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embbarnes · 16 days ago

Text

Sugar Plums. | W.S

summary: The soldier has an attachment to you.

a/n: This came to me randomly but thought it was cute and somewhat spicy. I added some fluff to balance it all out and tried to keep the sexy scenes sweet too. I see so many fics of him being super aggressive in bed and those are great, but for me I think he'd be a little more like this. Takes place after the events of CA:TWS. Contains roughly translated Russian, native speakers can correct me if anything was translated wrong. Ty. ;; wc: 5.5k

It was so awkward.

Everyone sat frozen in place, their eyes locked on the imposing figure of the Winter Soldier as he towered behind you, his piercing blue eyes methodically scanning the room and studying each occupant with an intensity that made them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"Absolutely not!" Tony was the first to break the suffocating silence, his voice sharp and decisive as he beat Steve to speaking by a mere second. There was absolutely no way he would even consider allowing the fist of HYDRA to take up residence in his tower, treating him like he was nothing more than some lost stray that needed sheltering. "He's not staying here, no way in hell - this isn't a halfway house for reformed assassins."

"Tony, come on. HYDRA is gone, their control over him is broken," you reasoned desperately, your voice taking on a pleading tone as you gestured toward the silent figure behind you, "He's been surviving on his own for weeks, barely getting by. Just look at him...he's exhausted, malnourished, and clearly needs somewhere safe to stay and recover."

"Uh, how about no?" Tony fired back, staring at you like you had grown a second head...or like you had a towering sleeper soldier looming behind you.

Tony wasn't your favorite person in the world, but he was usually somewhat reasonable.

"There's absolutely no way that he's staying here. Have you completely lost your mind? What if he suddenly snaps or loses control and goes completely berserk, hm? What if one night those sleeper triggers buried in his brain suddenly activate and he systematically takes us out one by one in our sleep?" Tony added emphatically, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he attempted to visualize the gruesome scenarios playing out in his mind.

"Your state-of-the-art security cameras can't give us a heads up before that happens?" You asked with dry sarcasm, your tone deliberately flat and unimpressed, clearly making a joke while you tried to find some kind of middle ground that would get the agitated, self-proclaimed playboy to calm down and think rationally.

"No chance in hell, sweet cheeks," he folded his arms and glared at you with sternness that etched across his features. "Too dangerous."

"He's staying, whether you like it or not," you replied in the same unwavering tone, standing your ground with resolute conviction. "He's hurt, weak, completely vulnerable. There's absolutely nothing he could possibly do in this state. He needs somewhere warm and safe to stay, especially since he's been struggling to survive out on the streets for weeks now. Besides, winter is coming fast and there’s no way he won’t get hypothermia or something." You added with concern, knowing full well that while the soldier hadn't been entirely helpless during his ordeal, he certainly hadn't managed to secure any kind of stable shelter.

His temporary refuges consisted only of cold spaces beneath bridges, dark corners tucked away in forgotten alleys, or the remains of abandoned buildings - not a single place where he could truly let his guard down or feel protected from the harsh elements. With winter's rapid approach and already light dustings of snow, the temperatures would only get more brutal as the nights went on.

You continued to argue with Tony, Steve butting in every so often, luckily siding with you, desperate to have his old friend somewhere safe. It was a long, frustrating argument that lasted much longer than need be.

Earlier that day, while you had been making your way down the frost-covered street of New York's downtown district, his eyes had caught sight of your familiar form. Something deep within him told him to follow you, a magnetic pull that he couldn't explain. He obeyed the instinct, trailing silently behind you all the way back to the tower. When you finally became aware of his presence, he was thoroughly drenched from the steadily falling snow, his cheeks and nose having turned a bright, rosy color from the biting cold as he tried to suppress his constant shivering.

The moment you made your sudden turn to approach him, he visibly startled, immediately taking a defensive step backward as his mind raced through all the possible scenarios and potential threats. His eyes darted across your face with obvious wariness as you fully turned to face him, his entire body subtly shifting its weight from foot to foot, muscles tensed and ready to bolt away.

"It's okay...you look cold..." You spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, trying not to startle him as you took in his disheveled appearance. The soldier, the one whose face had practically been plastered across every news channel, the same one Steve had spoken about with such raw emotion in his voice.

You remembered how Steve had mourned his best friend, utterly confused and devastated about why he had saved from the river, while Bucky fell to what should have been his death. Steve held onto that grief, that guilt, like a lifeline. He held onto it so desperately, clinging to the faintest hope that a sliver of Bucky was still somewhere deep inside the persona of the Winter Soldier.

Looking at him now, you couldn't see any trace of the man from Steve's stories - the soldier's eyes were too wild and wide, filled with fear and confusion.

But despite everything you'd heard, despite the destruction you'd witnessed on the news, despite the intense warnings from everyone in the tower, there was something about his presence that didn't trigger your fight or flight response.

He didn't make you feel unsafe.

He looked absolutely beat down, exhausted to his very core, his shoulders slumped in a way that made you wonder when he'd last had a moment's rest. You weren't even sure he could take you down if he tried in this state, though you knew his reputation suggested otherwise. He was shaking from the cold air as it blew in a stinging breeze, his metal arm gleaming dully in what little light remained, while the incoming winter storm brought with it a thick haze and countless tiny pinpricks of needle-like snowflakes that seemed to cut through the air.

"Come inside with me, I'll take care of you." You offered quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as you extended your hand towards him. Your body language remained open and non-threatening, shoulders relaxed and posture deliberately casual to help put him at ease and to show him you felt no fear.

After a few silent moments where his piercing blue eyes studied you through the thick haze, he finally shifted his weight forward and took a step in your direction.

The water in the shower had set a steady steam in the bathroom, the mirror had fogged and the tiles sweat below your bare feet.

You could hear the gentle splashing of water against the bathtub as he cleaned himself. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm caught your attention, hopefully that thing was waterproof, but it must be, right?

After setting out a fresh towel and clean clothes for his use, you quietly excused yourself to provide him with privacy. The state of his current attire was awful, every piece was thoroughly saturated and carried an unmistakable stench that made you wrinkle your nose. The clothes were in such poor condition that you couldn't help but wonder if they had been scavenged from someone who no longer needed them.

You wouldn’t put it past the soldier to steal from a cadaver.

His shower routine was notably brief, years of conditioning taught him to minimize the time spent on his personal care. Upon finishing, he emerged from behind the curtain and efficiently dried himself with the provided towel. His gaze fell upon the fresh clothes you had thoughtfully placed by the sink, while his previous garments had been discreetly removed.

The soldier hesitated momentarily before donning the clean outfit. It wasn’t anything fancy, a pair of grey sweatpants emblazoned with the Avenger's logo along the side and a simple yet comfortable black tank top. When he finally emerged from the bathroom to face you, his body language betrayed his uncertainty as he stood there, not sure what to do now. Comfort was completely foreign to him, and care was a dream away.

"Tony finally gave in," you replied softly, your voice sounded in the quiet stillness of the bedroom. "He said you could stay here with us."

He remained motionless, his expression blank and unreadable as he stood there, offering neither response nor the slightest hint of acknowledgement to your words. You weren’t sure what to expect but that seemed pretty in character for him at the moment.

"You'll be staying in my quarters since no one else is comfortable having you in their space just yet...but don't worry too much about that," you reassured gently, though you could tell from his demeanor that others' opinions held little weight in his mind. "They'll come around after some time, I'm sure of it."

His gaze fixed upon you then, his brow creasing ever so slightly with an unspoken question as he began to move. Each step was deliberate and measured as he crossed the room, closing the distance between you until he stood directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets from his freshly washed hair beading at the ends and falling onto the fabric of your top, leaving dark spots where they landed.

"Everything's going to be fine," you said with gentle reassurance, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Why don't we head to the kitchen and get you something to eat? You must be hungry." You offered, hoping to bring some normalcy to the situation.

The soldier shadowed your every movement, following closely behind like a faithful companion who refused to stray from their master's side.

Upon entering the expansive kitchen, you immediately made your way to the industrial-sized refrigerator, searching through its contents for something suitable to offer him. The kitchen was perpetually stocked to the brim with an array of foods, snacks, and ingredients, practically anything one could imagine or desire. It was like having a private, fully-stocked grocery store.

Though with a the ravenous super soldier with enhanced metabolism, the mighty Asgardian god whose appetite matched his status, and Banner's surprisingly hulk-ish consumption…the team still depleted their food with an efficiency that would put a pack of famished wolves to shame.

"Hm...what should you have...do you want anything specific?" You turned over your shoulder to address him, but he maintained his characteristic silence. Unmoving, and completely stoic, like a statue carved from marble.

"Нет [No]," came his quiet response, the Russian word rolling off his tongue deeply. He remained perfectly still, observing with careful attention as you continued your search through the refrigerator's contents, trying to determine what would be most appropriate for him to eat. Your mind was working quickly, knowing you wanted to avoid anything too time-consuming to prepare. You wanted to get some food into him sooner rather than later.

"How about...I could make some soup real quick? Tomato and grilled cheese might be a safe option for you. Shouldn't upset your stomach too much if you haven’t been eating a lot, and it will warm you up if you're still feeling cold." You turned back toward him once more, studying his features carefully for any hint of reaction or preference to your suggestion, any subtle change in his expression.

But, he didn't provide even the slightest indication of his feelings.

You decided on tomato soup and a grilled cheese anyway, you figured it was best and immediately set to work in the kitchen.

Although you typically prided yourself on preparing meals completely from scratch, this particular circumstance called for something different. You assembled the sandwich, buttering the bread before placing it in a heated pan to get a golden-brown crust while keeping a watchful eye on the pot of soup simmering beside it, occasionally stirring for even heating.

Once everything reached the perfect temperature and consistency, you transferred the meal onto clean dishes, relieved it didn’t take too long. You presented him with the steaming bowl of soup and perfectly grilled sandwich, watching as the soldier deliberately took his place at the counter, his eyes fixed intently on the rising steam from the bowl before him.

You watched him, noting how his entire body remained unnaturally rigid and motionless, as though every muscle was locked in place and braced for something. His lips bore a slight sheen of moisture, like he had licked them at some point when you weren't watching. Yet despite his obvious hunger, he hadn't made even the slightest attempt to reach for the food. His eyes held intense longing and hesitation, briefly meeting yours before quickly darting away, as if making eye contact was somehow forbidden.

"What's wrong?" You asked with growing concern etched across your features, "You're hungry aren't you? I can tell you haven't eaten in a while. Especially not anything warm, at least. I know it can be hard out there, all by yourself…"

His response came in the form of an almost imperceptible nod, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the bowl and sandwich before him, as though they were the most important and most dangerous objects in the room.

"So why aren't you eating? The food's getting cold, it won’t be as good if it cools too much."

"Я не могу совершить действие без приказа. [I cannot perform an action without an order]," the soldier responded in barely more than a whisper, his voice carrying the weight of years of conditioning.

You stood there, completely lost in the language barrier between you. Your limited knowledge of Russian extended only to the most basic words - 'да' and 'нет' - leaving you clueless by his response and worried about the implications of his behavior.

You didn't want to wake Natasha, even though she would certainly understand what he was saying in Russian, but disturbing her sleep for something as simple as a quick translation seemed unnecessary and might put her in a bad mood. Instead, an idea popped into your head that would avoid an angry widow. You reached for your phone and placed it on the smooth counter surface, navigating to a translator app before looking up at him again. "Can you repeat that?"

The soldier's eyes flickered briefly to the phone screen, taking in the sight of the translation app with what seemed like recognition, before his gaze deliberately returned to the untouched food laid out before him. "I cannot perform an action without an order," he stated in perfect, albeit mechanical English this time.

You blinked in surprise, thoroughly caught off guard by the sudden switch to English when he had been persistently speaking Russian up until this point. "Okay...well...eat then, you can eat freely here, you don't need an order to do that." You slowly tucked your phone away into your pocket as his right hand gradually lifted from where it had been resting in his lap, reaching out to pick up the sandwich.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but he wolfed down his food within a minute, that sandwich was gone within maybe three bites. The soup swallowed just as fast.

God, he was starving, and the realization made your heart ache.

"Better?" You asked gently, to which he only nodded, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth.

This became routine, the soldier stuck by your side like a duckling imprinting on its mother.

He followed you diligently around every corner of the tower, his protective instincts activated as he positioned himself like an ever-vigilant guardian. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings, noting how others would cast uncertain and sometimes suspicious glances in his direction.

These looks made him increasingly self-conscious and anxious, as though he were some exotic creature put on display at a zoo for others to gawk at. But in your presence, he seemed a bit more at ease. He genuinely liked being around you.

Gradually, the rigid tension that had defined his existence began to melt away, and he started allowing more intimate gestures of care. He let you gently brush his unruly hair into place, carefully wash his face with warm water, or trim his growing stubble for him.

He accepted these tender ministrations without the slightest resistance or complaint, though a nagging worry lingered in your mind that his compliance stemmed from years of conditioning to submit to others' wishes. Each time you worried about that, you’d see a genuine warmth and contentment in his gaze rather than submission, showing you that he truly found comfort and pleasure in your gentle touch.

It was evening, the room reflected the warm glow of festive holiday lights emanating from a miniature Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The soldier found himself transfixed by the small decorated tree, his eyes lingering on each twinkling light as their vibrant colors danced and shimmered. The sterile, monotonous walls he had grown accustomed to during his confinement were nothing compared to the colorful lights. The gentle play of red, green, and gold seemed to awaken something long dormant within him, he almost wanted to plant himself in front of the tree and just stare at it.

Tony may have allowed his stay, but that didn’t mean there weren’t restrictions. He was stern about where and when the soldier could go anywhere with you, and he demanded that he not leave your room afterhours. It wasn’t hard to follow, the solider showed reluctance to leave your room at all, having been so accustomed to being kept in one room. You didn’t push him, but you felt bad for him because he was missing how the tower had been decorated for the holidays. So, you got a smaller tree for the bedroom to provide some kind of festive look for him to take in.

You emerged from the bathroom, wisps of steam following in your wake, your damp hair leaving little droplets on your shoulders as you continued to towel it dry with scrunches. He remained motionless on the edge of your bed, his attention immediately shifting as he turned and blinked up at your approaching figure.

His icy eyes traced a deliberate path across your form, which was barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the hem teasingly brushing against your mid-thigh with each movement. "I am beat," you sighed heavily, your voice carrying the weight of the day's festivities. The marathon of holiday activities had clearly taken its toll, leaving you thoroughly drained. The tower often held an array of things to do because Tony loved to show off what he could afford, and it wasn’t like anyone else would object.

He observed with rapt attention as you made your way onto the bed and settled back against the pillows, releasing a deep exhale that seemed to melt away the day's tension. His unwavering gaze remained fixed on the rhythmic, hypnotic motion of your chest rising and falling with each breath.

You felt the bed shift beneath you as he moved, his weight causing the mattress to dip and creak softly. He crawled over to where you lay, his arms positioning themselves on either side of your body, caging you in. Your eyes fluttered open to find him hovering directly above you, his presence overwhelming in its proximity. This was something new…he had always maintained somewhat of a distance before, never daring to position himself so intimately over top of you.

"Я скомпрометирован. [I'm compromised]," the soldier spoke in a hushed tone, his voice carrying that distinctive gravelly pitch that made you feel tingly. The tension between you had become damned near impossible to ignore. What had started as a subtle pull had grown into an overwhelming force of attraction that seemed to draw you both together like magnets.

Still, you forced yourself to hold back, maintaining that last thread of restraint. You had no way of knowing the depth of his emotional capacity, if he was even capable of genuine feelings, or wanted to experience them at all after everything he endured.

"Soldat...?" The whispered word escaped your lips as you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his muscles tensed as he remained suspended above you, perfectly still. "You know I don't understand-"

"I am compromised," he repeated, switching to English this time. His voice had dropped even lower, carrying an edge of frustration that vibrated through the minimal space between your bodies.

"Comprom..." You sat up slowly on your elbows and shook your head in confusion, your brow furrowed as you tried to process his words. That’s what you’d say about a machine or computer, not a man. "What are you talking about?" Your eyes wandered downward, suddenly drawn to an unmistakable tent in his fitted briefs that became obvious from your new viewing angle, causing you to freeze in place as your breath caught in your throat.

So, he could feel things.

"Oh..." You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you remained frozen in place, your cheeks growing warm. "I think I understand now...you're feeling a bit pent up, aren't you?"

His metal arm whirred softly, the sophisticated machinery humming as he moved to adjust his hand placement. "Да. [Yes]," he responded in a low voice, his gleaming titanium fingertips delicately ghosted across the bare skin of your thigh, just barely grazing beneath the hem of your thin sleep shirt. Goosebumps erupted along your body in response to the contact, the cool metal sudden against your flushed skin.

"Мне не нравится делиться вашим вниманием. [I don't like sharing your attention]," he muttered with an undertone of possession, his lips curling into a slight frown as he gradually leaned closer to you. His silken hair delicately tickled your face as he slowly lowered himself, the tips of your noses barely grazing against each other in an intimate gesture. His lips parted ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of anticipation before he dipped his head down, warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your jawline.

You swallowed reflexively, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his warm, steady breath caress your sensitive skin, sending a visible shudder of growing excitement through your body.

He continued his gentle exploration, encouraged by your acceptance and the absence of any resistance. He pressed a trail of soft, purposeful kisses along the curve of your jaw, each one more intimate than the last, before gradually working his way down to your neck. His lips carefully followed the rhythmic flutter of your pulse beneath your skin, his tongue peeking out shyly to touch against you.

"Ah-" You voiced softly, feeling him settle on a particularly sensitive spot, right against the delicate side of your neck. It was nestled perfectly between the graceful junction where your neck connected to your collarbone, the skin there warm and inviting, holding a faint trace of blood flow from the intricate network of smaller veins positioned just beneath the surface.

He kissed many times with increasing intensity, clearly finding this spot ideal for his attentions. The soft, tentative pecks gradually became more passionate, open-mouthed kisses as each one was placed. His tongue began gently pressing against your skin with each lingering kiss, the pressure slowly growing in need. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth when he finally latched on, your eyes widening in surprise as the soldier's strong arms held you a little tighter.

Soldat began to suckle a mark, his ministrations gentle and teasing at first, but quickly growing in force and intensity as his skilled tongue swirled expertly around the trapped skin between his lips and teeth. The sensation drew a breathy moan from deep within you, making your entire body feel as though it were engulfed in flames of desire. Though you were completely helpless beneath the assassin, you had absolutely no intention or desire to push him away.

This felt too damned good.

Without thinking, your leg came up and hooked around his hips, drawing him closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat between you grew and you felt his painful erection trapped in his briefs, straining against the fabric as his arousal was staining them. Soldat exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening possessively, but he did not let go.

His suckling grew increasingly intense, the sensitive skin tingling and starting to sting and burn with each passing moment. Still, he didn't release the bruised skin just yet.

Instead, he just bit down harder, ensuring the mark he left would last for days. You moaned loudly, your fingers gently tangling in his thick hair as your pleasured sounds encouraged his attention. He became more attentive when your little sounds of pleasure turned into sharp, quiet hisses - clearly indicating that the sensation had crossed from pleasure into discomfort, silently telling him to ease off.

When he did finally relent, he pulled back to admire his handiwork, looking down at the deep purple mark blooming on your neck. His breath came in heavy pants through his parted lips as he stayed quiet, watching intently as you struggled to catch your own breath too. The sight of you beneath him, disheveled and vulnerable, with flushed skin and labored breathing, was enough to draw him right back in.

He dipped back down with renewed hunger, his metal hand slowly threading through your hair before gently fisting it at the base of your skull, though his careful control ensured it wasn’t painful, just firm. He tugged just enough to guide your movement, encouraging you to expose more of your neck to his hungry gaze.

"E-easy..." You whispered, a note of anxious anticipation in your voice. You wanted more, god you wanted more, but his sudden change of behavior was a bit surprising for you.

"Понял. [Understood]," he whispered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss of reassurance to your jaw before returning his attention to your neck. Those soft kisses began again, trailing along your skin, but his restraint didn't last long as he quickly sought a new canvas for another mark. He latched onto a spot just a little bit higher on your neck, alternating between sucking and carefully controlled bites to gradually darken and bruise the sensitive flesh.

You felt bite after delicious bite, hickey after possessive hickey.

He marked the tender flesh of your neck in several deep, purple marks that bloomed like violent flowers across your skin...each one throbbing with a sweet ache when he pulled away. His tongue always swirled over the mark with care to soothe the sting of it, making you arch into his touch as you fell into a complete daze.

"S-Soldat," you muttered breathlessly, cheeks flushed crimson and eyelids heavy with desire. Your pupils matched his own - completely blown with hunger and desperate need. Those bermuda swirls meeting yours as he continued a torturously slow trail of hot kisses down your chest, nipping your collarbone with just enough pressure to make you gasp before following the gentle dip of your sternum.

He paused deliberately, pulling up so he could lift the thin sleep shirt over you and expose more of your bare chest to his hungry gaze, giving him better access for his heated kisses and teasing nips. Once your top was discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands gently but firmly held your sides, trailing up with reverent touches until settling against your ribcage. His larger hands completely encompassed your torso, making you feel small but protected.

The soldier was absolutely transfixed at the sight of your breasts, eyeing the soft mounds and peaked nipples as they hardened in the cool air, growing increasingly sensitive and rosy with your mounting arousal. It was like he was completely mesmerized by the sight before him, the fucking Winter Soldier, the most dangerous assassin in history, stopped dead in his tracks at the mere sight of your bare breasts.

You felt in charge now.

"What is it? Do you like them?" you purred softly to the soldier, your body swaying in a deliberately teasing motion that made them gently move. His eyes remained fixed, drinking in the sight before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. Slowly, his head tilted down again, surrendering to the moment. He let his face nestle against your chest, his lips trailing a constellation of unhurried kisses across your skin.

He began to nip and suckle the tender skin of your breasts, his mouth working to create deep, purple love bites on that delicate flesh. The bruising blossomed easily beneath his ministrations, almost like they were eager to show themselves.

His lips would find a promising spot, then he would begin lapping at the skin with gentle strokes of his tongue until he felt you squirming. The soldier took the sensitized flesh carefully between his teeth, rolling the captured skin while his talented muscle swirled and sucked.

Your chest displayed his passionate handiwork when he finally drew back to admire his creation. The plum-colored bruises created an intimate pattern across your skin, their rich hues made even more striking by the soft glow of the holiday lights that danced through the room, highlighting each carefully placed love bite until they seemed to shimmer like twilight stars against your flesh.

"Soldat...I think you covered enough surface area," you breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the intense throbbing that radiated from each mark he'd left. The sensation pulsed in waves across your skin, making it difficult to focus. Your neck was thoroughly covered in the passionate marks, and now your chest bore an equally impressive collection.

The soldier gazed down at you with intensely, his eyes taking in each little sugar plum bruise that decorated your skin like a masterpiece. Though they were scattered without any deliberate pattern, the overall effect clearly pleased him. You lay there looking thoroughly affected by his attention, hair mussed and breathing uneven, cheeks beautifully darkened with a dust of blush, just from his careful application of bites alone. The sight of you in such a state, marked so thoroughly, brought deep set satisfaction in his gut.

"Моя сейчас. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own. The almost-kiss was delicate, just the faintest brush of contact that sent electricity dancing through your nerves. He almost seemed nervous to close that final distance, his confidence faltering despite the passionate trail of marks he had already left scattered across your skin.

He drew back slightly, seemingly snapping out of a trance, and you could see the vulnerability written plainly across his features as that nervousness flickered in his eyes. Shifting his weight, he settled back onto the bed, his right hand finding your knee and tracing gentle, soothing circles there with his thumb. The tender gesture matched his hushed voice as he spoke, "Я не хочу идти дальше. [I don't want to go any further]," the words carrying both certainty and a hint of apology.

Your brow furrowed deeply as you struggled to understand what he was trying to stay, the confusion evident in the slight crease between your eyebrows and the questioning tilt of your head. You really needed to study Russian. "Do you not want to continue?" you asked slowly and carefully, focusing more on interpreting the subtle nuances in his tone rather than trying to parse the exact words he was using.

His facial expression held hesitance and uncertainty, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his eyes wouldn't quite meet yours telling you what you needed to know. Body language was his primary mode of genuine communication, and you had become very good at reading these silent signals he unconsciously broadcast.

"It's okay, we can stop," you replied with a reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice soft to help dissipate any lingering tension he might be feeling. "Let's just lay here, okay? We can cuddle without any kind of pressure to do anything else, if you want." You offered with a warm smile, wanting him to feel that his comfort and boundaries were completely respected and that there was no expectation or obligation to continue.

This was a lot of good progress with him, you typically just cuddled or he kept to his side of the bed but he had shown you a lot of sweet affection tonight, and you loved it, it meant he was growing more confident in himself and your relationship. The evidence of his passionate yet tender attention remained visible in the form of gentle, plum-colored marks that decorated your neck and chest as you lay beside him, watching as his silent form trembled slightly beneath the heavy warmth of the thick blankets that enveloped you both.

You opened your arms, offering him a warmer space, and he quickly scooted forward, tucking himself against you. Prone to being cold, he liked being under many layers of blankets, so you made sure to provide plenty for him to not only feel warm but secure. Plus...having you to hold him always helped.

Without the worry of being a soldier, he could rest easy like this.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier smut #winter soldier x reader smut #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes smut #emwrites🌿

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sttoru · 3 months ago

Text

“you’re important to me, satoru.”

the words pierce through the comfortable silence. your lover’s closed eyes flutter open and stare at the ceiling for a second, unsure if what he’s heard was indeed reality.

his cerulean eyes eventually dart to your face. they’re filled with a rare sense of vulnerability, one that only appears around you. however it fades quickly when satoru tries to keep the moment lighthearted.

“heh, i know i am,” satoru chuckles, though you don’t miss the unusual softness in his voice. the white-haired man leans into your touch as your hands come into contact with his cheeks.

your smile lights up the room. it fills satoru’s heart with an undeniable amount of love— love that he has lots of. the kind of love that makes him dream of a future, his future.

the kind of love that reassures him that he’s someone.

“good! i’m glad you do,” you reply and pepper his face with kisses. your lover melts into your embrace and his head falls back against the pillows once more, his fluffy white hair pooling around his head, making him look like an angel.

satoru gently pulls you on top of him, the duvet around your tangled bodies rustling. the cocoon of warmth provides the both of you with a comfort like no other. “what’s with the sudden sappiness, baby?” he teases, booping your nose.

satoru doesn’t hate it. in fact, it’s the exact opposite. he cherishes the affection, the gentle reminders that he’s loved and will be loved until the end of time. even if no one in the world remembers him anymore, he knows you will.

you let out a small huff of laughter before placing a tender kiss on his lips. “just wanna show my man the love he deserves,” you hum and run your fingers through his hair.

as you speak, satoru can’t help but bask in your heartwarming words, drinking in your love and affection like a man starved of water.

you lower your head and leave a trail of pecks along his throat and collarbone. you eventually rest your head on his bare chest and hug yourself close to his body. his pecs function as a soft cushion for your head— a warmth you don’t ever wish to lose.

“. . you’re too sweet,” satoru sighs. his arms wrap around your torso and he squeezes you tightly, yearning to hold you as close to him as he possibly could. his heart beats loudly in his chest and he’s sure you’ve heard it. he then kisses the top of your head and exhales through his nose.

“you’re killing me, babe,” your small giggles as you jokingly complain about the lack of air in your lungs make him feel an incredible amount of joy. a certain joy he only experiences with you.

to your surprise, satoru rolls you over onto your back. his hands are on either side of your head, fingers curling around the silky material of the pillowcases. his eyes glisten with a deep sense of passion that he wishes to convey.

your lover captures your lips in a tender kiss, his white locks brushing against your forehead. “mhh— god,” satoru murmurs against your bottom lip after gently taking it between his teeth. his breath hitches when your fingers tangle in his hairs, “what did i ever do to deserve you, sweets?”

after a couple seconds, he pulls away. he’s breathless and so are you. “so much. you did and still do so much. hell, you deserve even more than this,” you reply without missing a beat. you want him to know that you appreciate him for who he is and what he’s done for you— for the world.

you shake your head and pull satoru down for another kiss.

his eyes widen and he swears that he can feel tingles spread through his nose. it’s that sensation which happens before the tears well up in his eyes. satoru isn’t one to cry so easily, thus he decides his best to hold back his emotions.

your lover shuts his eyes tightly to stop the tears from forming and holds onto you like you’re his lifeline. he feels so alive, so appreciated— he feels like he actually matters.

and he does. he matters to you. not because he’s the strongest and not because he possesses great power which others benefit from. but simply because he’s . . . himself.

satoru’s lips detach from yours. again, due to your body’s need for air. if it wasn’t for that, he’d kiss you forever. he rests his forehead against yours, his breath coming out in short and quick pants.

your half-lidded eyes look up at his as well. your fingers run up and down his nape while you lovingly stare at each other. a small smile tugs at your lips the moment you feel his mouth connects to yours again a final time.

satoru finally opens his eyes, his face hovering above yours. you’re left stunned by the sight of him like this; vulnerable, defenceless, honest and just pure. you adore it whenever he drops his over confident, playful and cocky side of his personality to make way for his inner self.

“. . you’re important to me too. very,” satoru responds to your earlier words, his voice gentle and sincere. he flashes you a subtle yet soft smile, his blue eyes glistening with tears that disappear as quickly as they appeared.

he lowers his head and rests it next to yours before taking in a deep breath, his mouth next to your ear as he whispers one more request;

“please don’t ever stop loving me.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #gojo fanfic #jjk ff #gojo ff #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru x reader

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littlelamy · 3 months ago

Text

rafe x reader; she’s not you

when you stepped off the plane and back into the outer banks, it felt surreal. the salty air was still the same, warm and familiar as it wrapped around you like an old friend. you had been gone for two years—two long years where you’d distanced yourself from everyone here, most importantly, rafe. the boy you had promised everything to, only to leave without a word. but you were back now, and you were determined to reclaim what was yours. no matter what obstacles stood in the way, you were going to make things right.

your heart pounded as you made your way toward tannyhill. memories of late nights sneaking into rafe’s bedroom, tangled up in each other, whispered promises of forever, flooded your mind. you couldn’t believe you left him behind, left everything behind. but rafe had promised to wait for you, and you trusted his word. that’s why you were so confident walking up the familiar stone path to the house. you had no idea what you were about to walk into.

with a deep breath, you raised your fist and knocked on the large wooden door. a few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a girl—sofia, of all people. dressed in nothing but a towel, her hair still wet and hanging loosely over her shoulders, she looked just as surprised to see you as you were to see her.

her confusion was written all over her face. “uh… can I help you?” she asked, clutching the towel tighter around her body, clearly taken aback.

you blinked, trying to process what you were seeing. “i… i think i have the wrong house,” you stammered, but you knew that was lie. your heart sank, and before you could say anything else, you heard a familiar voice call out from behind her.

“baby, who’s at the door?”

the world felt like it had been yanked out from under you as rafe stepped into view, his voice trailing off as his eyes locked onto yours. you could see the shock flicker across his face, but it was quickly masked by something darker—anger, hurt, and maybe a little confusion. you felt the bile rise in your throat. the rafe you had left behind was with her now?

“rafe…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you stepped back from the door in disgust.

rafe’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, but he didn’t. instead, he just stood there, staring at you like he couldn’t believe you were really there. the tension between the three of you was palpable, and you couldn’t stand it anymore.

you turned on your heel and walked away, feeling like the ground beneath you had crumbled. how could he move on so easily? he had promised you forever, and now here he was, with someone else. you weren’t dumb..you knew that you left him but, damn, why her.

as you made your way back home, your emotions were a whirlwind—anger, pain, regret. but most of all, you were determined. this wasn’t over, not by a long shot. rafe cameron was yours, and you were going to make sure he remembered that.

later that night, you were back in your childhood home, sitting on the porch and trying to collect your thoughts. everything felt so wrong. you’d pictured this day for months, how you’d walk into rafe’s life again, and things would fall into place like they were meant to. but instead, you were faced with the reality that he had moved on.

suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching. your heart skipped a beat as you saw rafe walking up the path to your house. he looked conflicted, torn between anger and something else—something softer. you stood up as he reached the porch, not sure what to say, but knowing that whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be easy.

“what the hell are you doing here?” his voice was low, rough with emotion. he shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes scanning your face, like he was trying to figure out if you were real.

“i came back,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “for you.”

he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “for me? after two years of silence, you just show up and expect everything to be the same?”

your chest tightened. “rafe, i—”

“no, you don’t get to walk away and then come back whenever it’s convenient for you,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “you promised me forever, and then you left. do you know what that did to me?”

the pain in his voice was clear, and it hurt to hear. you took a step forward, your eyes pleading. “i had to leave, rafe. I didn’t have a choice.”

“you always have a choice,” he snapped, his voice hard as he stared at you. but then his expression softened slightly, and for a moment, you saw the rafe you once knew, the one who would have moved mountains for you. “you said you’d marry me. we had a plan. and then you just disappeared.”

your heart ached as you reached out, resting your hand on his chest. “i know i hurt you. but I never stopped loving you. I never will.”

rafe’s breath hitched, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. his eyes darkened with desire as he looked down at you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “you think you can just come back and say all the right things and i’ll forget what you did?” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous.

“no,” you whispered back, your lips inches from his. “but i can make you remember why we’re meant to be.”

before he could respond, you pressed your lips to his, desperate and hungry. rafe groaned against your mouth, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer. the kiss was hot, intense, fueled by the passion and anger that had been building between you for the past two years. it felt like fire—like everything you’d been missing was suddenly right there, burning between you.

when he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, and his eyes were full of lust. “you think you can fix everything with a kiss?” he asked, his voice rough.

“no,” you said, breathless. “but it’s a start.”

rafe growled, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him. you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension between you building to a fever pitch. “you left me,” he repeated, his hands digging into your skin. “and now you think you can just come back and take what’s yours?”

you stared up at him, your heart racing. “i don’t think, rafe. i know.”

the tension between you and Rafe was like a live wire. he had come over with every intention of confronting you, of demanding answers, but as soon as he laid eyes on you, all those old feelings came rushing back. he was torn between his anger and the desire that had never really gone away. as he stood in your bedroom later that night, watching you peel off your dress and reveal the lacy underwear beneath, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“fuck, you look even better than I remember,” he muttered, stepping forward and running his hands down your sides. you shivered at his touch, your body aching for him.

rafe leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “i’ve thought about this moment every damn day since you left. you have no idea how many nights i’ve spent imagining you right here, under me, begging for it.”

you whimpered, the sound escaping your lips as you tilted your head back, giving him more access to your neck. his hands roamed over your body, possessive and demanding as he pushed you onto the bed, his eyes dark with desire.

he stood over you for a moment, drinking in the sight of you laid out before him. the skirt of your dress was flipped up, your legs spread wide, and your lacy thong pulled to the side. you were already soaked, your body desperate for him.

“please, rafe,” you moaned, your voice full of need. “i need you.”

a cocky smirk played on his lips as he slid his hand down between your legs, teasing you, running his fingers over your dripping, puffy folds. “you want me, baby?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

you nodded, biting your lip as your hips bucked toward his hand. “yes, please…i want you so bad.”

rafe’s smirk deepened as he lowered himself onto the bed, positioning himself between your thighs. he dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, savoring the taste of you as you moaned loudly. his grip on your hips tightened as he licked and sucked at your swollen clit, his cock straining painfully against his pants.

“fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your slick skin. “i’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as your body writhed beneath him. the pleasure was overwhelming, the years of pent-up frustration finally finding release as Rafe devoured you like a man starved.

“rafe, please…i need you inside me,” you gasped, your body trembling with need.

he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his lips glistening with your wetness. “you’re mine,” he growled, his eyes dark and dangerous. “don’t you ever forget that.”

you nodded, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he stood up and quickly discarded his clothes. his cock was hard, already leaking pre-cum as he positioned himself at your entrance.

without another word, he thrust inside you, filling you completely in one swift, hard motion. you cried out, your body arching up to meet his as he began to move, his pace fast and demanding. every thrust was a reminder of what you had left behind, of everything you had both lost in the years apart. but now, with him inside you, it felt like nothing had changed—like you were right back where you belonged.

rafe’s hands gripped your hips as he pounded into you, his eyes locked on yours, the intensity between you palpable. “you’re mine,” he repeated, his voice low and possessive. “i don’t care where you’ve been, what you’ve done. you’ll always be mine.”

your breath hitched at his words, a shiver running down your spine. It wasn’t just about the sex—it was about everything you had shared, everything you had promised each other. and now, in this moment, you knew there was no going back. he was right. you were his, and nothing was going to change that.

as the pleasure built, your moans grew louder, your nails digging into his back as you held onto him. “rafe,” you gasped, “i’m—”

“i know, princess,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt you tighten around him. “come for me. let me feel you.”

that was all it took. your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you cried out his name. rafe followed seconds later, his own release hitting him hard as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he came.

for a few moments, neither of you moved, your bodies still tangled together, breathless and spent. then, slowly, rafe pulled out and collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

you turned your head to look at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet room.

rafe looked at you, his expression softer now, the anger and hurt replaced by something else—something you hadn’t seen in him for a long time. “i know,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “but you’re here now. and that’s all that matters.”

you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you rested your head on his chest. for the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

as you lay there, your body still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened, the reality of everything slowly started to settle back in. the warmth of rafe’s skin, the way his breath was steadying beneath you—it almost felt like old times, like the two years apart hadn’t happened. but you couldn’t ignore the question that had been nagging at the back of your mind since you arrived. you shifted slightly, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him.

“rafe,” you began softly, your voice uncertain. “what about sofia?”

his expression darkened instantly, his jaw clenching as he looked away from you. he ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “what about her?”

you swallowed, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. “is she… are you… together?”

rafe’s lips pressed into a hard line, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. you could see the conflict in his eyes, the tension returning to his body. “it’s not what you think,” he said finally, his voice low and guarded.

“then what is it?” you pressed gently, not wanting to push too hard but needing to know the truth. “i showed up at your house and she was there, rafe. wearing nothing but a towel. i just…i need to know.”

he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his back to you. for a long moment, he didn’t speak, just stared at the floor as if searching for the right words. finally, he turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and frustration. “she’s not you,” he said bluntly. “she never was.”

your heart clenched at his words, but you couldn’t help the flicker of jealousy that crept in. “but she was there. you were with her.”

rafe sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face. “i don’t know what you want me to say. you left. i was a mess. sofia… she was just—” He hesitated, searching for the right explanation. “she was a distraction, okay? someone to fill the void you left.”

you looked down, biting your lip as his words sank in. it stung to hear, but you couldn’t deny the part of you that felt relieved. “so, you don’t love her?”

he shook his head, his voice firm. “no. i never loved her, not the way I love you.”

his confession made your heart skip a beat, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the pain entirely. “but rafe, she was there… in your house. In your bed.” the thought of it made you feel sick all over again. “how am I supposed to just forget about that?”

rafe stood up, pacing the room with frustration. “you think I wanted this? you think I wanted to find someone else? I waited for you. I fucking waited, but you didn’t come back.” He stopped, turning to face you, his eyes hard. “what was I supposed to do? i needed something, someone to take my mind off of you.”

tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, trying to keep your voice steady. “i’m here now.”

he stared at you for a long moment, his anger softening as he saw the hurt in your eyes. slowly, he walked back over and sat down next to you, reaching out to cup your face in his hand. “yeah,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “you’re here now. And that’s all I care about.”

you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment as the weight of everything settled over you. It wasn’t perfect, and things were far from easy, but you were here, with rafe, and somehow, you knew you would figure it out. together.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0

#rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe x you #outerbanks rafe #rafe fic #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut

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dolche-tejada · 5 months ago

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You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he have Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best he could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

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notsoangels · 6 months ago

Text

❝ PROVING A POINT

pairings　jungkook x f!reader

genres　 smut, fluff

warnings explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, rough sex, spitting, fingering, blowjob, cum eating, multiple orgasms, exhibitionism (I think?), alcohol consumption, strong language, nsfw.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ© NOTSOANGELS 2024.

something about a heated confrontation with jungkook leads to a passionate reconnection.

the house is alive with music and laughter, bodies swaying and moving to the beat. it’s the kind of party everyone looks forward to, a night to let loose and forget about the world outside. but for you and your boyfriend, it’s a night filled with tension. you’re on a break, your constant arguments leading to silent treatments. yet, here you are, in the same space, pretending the other doesn’t exist.

you feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your veins, making you feel light and carefree. you’ve lost count of the number of drinks you’ve had, but you don’t care. the more you drink, the less you think about the heated arguments and cold silences with jungkook. you find yourself leaning closer to his friends, laughing a little too loudly at their jokes and touching their arms as you speak.

jungkook watches from across the room, his jaw clenched and fists tightening around his drink. he sees the way your hand lingers on taehyung’s shoulder, the way you laugh at something he says, and it makes his blood boil. he knows you’re doing it to get under his skin, and it’s working.

the final straw is when he sees you lean in to whisper something in jimin’s ear, your hand resting on his chest. jungkook slams his drink down on the nearest table and stalks over, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the group. “we need to talk,” he growls, not giving you a chance to protest.

he drags you down the hallway and into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. the music and chatter from the party become a distant hum. jungkook pushes you against the mirror, your eyes locking in the reflection. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

you glare at him, your defiance not wavering despite the situation. “having fun, which is something you wouldn’t understand,” you shoot back, your words slurred slightly from the alcohol.

jungkook’s grip tightens on your waist, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “you're mine, not anyone else's, fucking mine. I'm going to make you beg and moan my name.” he hisses, crashing his lips against yours in a rough, punishing kiss. his tongue invades your mouth, claiming you with every stroke.

you moan into the kiss, your resolve crumbling as his hands roam your body. he spits into your mouth, making you shiver with a mix of disgust and arousal. “you think you can just flirt with my friends and get away with it?” he growls, his fingers slipping under your skirt and pushing your panties aside.

you gasp as his fingers find your clit, rubbing it with just the right amount of pressure. “jung, please,” you whimper, your hips bucking against his hand.

he smirks, watching you through the mirror. “please what? you’re the one who started this,” he taunts, slipping two fingers inside you and curling them just right. you cry out, your hands bracing against the sink as you fight to stay upright.

jungkook doesn’t let up, his fingers moving in and out of you at a relentless pace. “look at yourself,” he commands, his voice rough with desire. “look at how desperate you are for me.”

you meet his gaze in the mirror, your eyes wide and pupils blown with lust. “i hate you,” you whisper, but your body betrays you, grinding against his hand.

he chuckles darkly, his thumb circling your clit. “no, you don’t. you need me,” he says, his fingers driving deeper. “say it.”

“i need you,” you finally admit, your voice breaking as you come around his fingers, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

but jungkook isn’t done. he pulls his fingers out, lifting them to your mouth. “open,” he orders, and you do, sucking his fingers clean. he groans at the sight, his cock straining against his jeans. “get on your knees.”

you drop to your knees, fumbling with his belt and zipper, freeing his erection. you take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip. he hisses, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your movements. “that’s it, baby. just like that.”

you take him deeper, gagging slightly but not stopping. you want to please him, to show him you are his. he fucks your mouth with a roughness that has you dripping onto the floor, your own arousal making your thighs slick.

when he’s close, he pulls out, stroking himself to completion. “open wide,” he says, and you do, sticking out your tongue. he comes with a grunt, his cum painting your tongue and lips. “swallow,” he commands, watching as you do, a satisfied smirk on his face.

jungkook pulls you up, turning you to face the mirror again. “i’m not done with you,” he whispers, pushing your skirt up and positioning himself at your entrance. he thrusts into you in one swift motion, both of you moaning at the sensation.

he fucks you hard and fast, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you. “you’re mine,” he growls, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “only mine.”

“fuck, yeah,” you moan, your hands slipping on the sink as he pounds into you. “i’m yours.”

as the pleasure builds, you close your eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations. jungkook grabs your neck from behind, lifting you up and pulling you back against his chest. “eyes on me when i fuck you, baby,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding.

you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze in the mirror. the intensity of his stare makes your knees weak. “good girl,” he praises, his thrusts becoming more powerful, driving you closer to the edge.

he reaches around, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. “come for me again,” he demands, his voice strained.

you do, your body convulsing around him as you scream his name. he follows soon after, filling you with his cum, marking you as his.

you collapse against the sink, both of you breathing heavily. jungkook presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his hands soothing over your skin. “I'm sorry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice filled with affection.

“i hate that you can make me feel this way,” you whisper, a small smile playing on your lips.

he chuckles, pulling you close and turning you to face him. “i know, but you love it too,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “we might argue and fight, but no one makes you feel the way i do.”

you sigh, leaning into his touch. “i don’t want to keep fighting, jungkook,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just want us to be okay.”

jungkook nods, his expression softening. “me too, baby. i’m tired of this break,” he confesses. “we need to figure out how to make this work, without all the yelling and the stupid silent treatments.”

you look up at him, your eyes filled with hope and uncertainty. “do you think we can?”

he smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “i know we can. we just need to communicate better, and not let things build up until we explode,” he says, holding you close. “i love you, y/n. and i don’t want to lose you.”

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igotanidea · 3 months ago

Text

Dress rehearsal: Jason Todd x reader

Summary/request: @ladychibirae and @animegirlfromvietnam decided to not let me function normally requesting Jason being a witness to his fiance triyng on wedding dresses. And then those two just went on, making Jason all flustered, generous and horny at the same time. So - here's that XD

Spicy, but not explicit ;)

****

It was all so … white.

Like a freaking hospital.

And it made him flinch, involuntarily diving back into the stream of bad memories involving injuries, hurt, pain and –

“Look at all those dresses!”

Oh, right, back to reality.

No pain, no fear, just the incoming future.

With Y/N.

His wonderful, beautiful, perfect Y/N.

His future bride. His future wife.

But even the sweetness of her presence and the smile forming on her face couldn’t have bellied the overwhelming feeling of being – well - overwhelmed. He was just supposed to drop off Y/N, Kori and Babs and the boutique and excuse himself under any false pretense he could produce and the rattling and pipsqueak and three girls making a commotion worth six or so people only fueled that resolve.

And then Y/N picked some random dress, putting it to herself and giving him a look, with a silent question what was he thinking and suddenly his plans did a full 180.

Like hell he was going anywhere.

He was going to watch his fiancée change and dress up and give a little show of the whole parade of wedding dresses, enjoying it deeply, though not admitting openly.

“What’s with your face?” Y/N teased, reading right through him. “ thought you were supposed to meet Dick for your boys’ stuff?”

“Really? Was I? Can’t remember. I’d rather stay here. Make sure you don’t get locked up here after hours.”

“Well if that’s your only concern-“

“Y/N, come on, really?” Babs chimed in “He shouldn’t be here, it’s against the tradition for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Well the tradition doesn’t mention anything about seeing each other a few months before the wedding, does it?”

“It’s –“

“Don’t say it.” Jason cut her off, probably harsher than it was necessary. It was Barbara after all, but he was slowly losing patience. No one was going to keep him away from his girl. Not Barbara, not Kori, no silly beliefs and certainly not some outdated tradition.

“I think you should listen to Barbara.” Obviously Kori had to add her three cents. “Though I find your earthly customs amusing.”

“I’m staying.” Jason repeated sternly

“He’s staying.” Y/N echoed at the same time. “I want him here. Luck or not, he’s my fiancé. The rest can go to hell.”

Barbara and Kori looked at her with a little bit of surprise. This definitely was not the standard behavior of their friend, but clearly Jason brought some dominant instincts in her. If her changing was going to be kept in such pace, the second after the wedding she would turn into a full-blown Red hood’s girl. Maybe even running the streets, shooting and beating the shit out of people alongside him without a care in the world.

Jason though had a look of pure admiration on his face. Of course she wanted him here. Of course the rest could go to hell. If anyone had the right to see her picking a dress, it was him.

Conceitedly and ostentatiously he took a spot on the sofa, leaning back on the soft furniture like he owned the place and almost daring Kori and Babs to oppose his presence.

“Shall we begin then?” Y/N grabbed a dress from the hanger, twirling around in the cloud of lace and satin, disappearing in the changing room.

***

Three dresses later, he had to deal not only with Babs and Kori but also with five more people. Somehow (it might have had something to do with Kori sending group messages of photos of Y/N) the rest of the batkids decided to join the fun.

Therefore, instead of being left alone with the love of his life, Jason found himself squeezed on the couch, between Dick and Stephanie, who just happened to be around. Forced to listen to the sighs of delight and exclamations of Cass and nodding of approval of Tim.

Fucking approval!

That freaking bunch though they could just comment on how his Y/N looked. That they were allowed to watch her spin and twirl and watch herself in the mirror, tilting head in that way, see her smile when she liked something or frown when she did not.

Bastards.

He was the only one allowed here and was hanging on the edge of the seat to just tell them all to piss off and throw them on the street.

He did not.

Mostly because every time she walked out, clad in another white outfit all the mean, harsh words intended at his sibling were stuck in the back of his throat and he was turning into a mewling-inside-little-cat-who-just-wanted-to-be-around-its-owner.

Y/N.

Standing in the middle of the boutique clad in the simple yet elegant wedding dress, accentuating all her curves and making her look like a princess. Literally. All she was missing was some sort of crown on her head, but Jason was going to make sure she would wear one during their entire life together. For she was going to be not only a princess, but his queen.

And he was speechless.

So quiet and unable to say any teasing comment or snarky remark it was slowly becoming suspicious.

“Um… Jace?” her voice reached his ears as if through a fog.

“Huh?” he was immediately thrown out from his reverie. “That’s my name, yeah.”

Everyone looked at him like he just grew a third arm (though in this family this probably wouldn’t be that shocking after all.)

“Are you okay?’ Dick asked with a smirk

“I’m fine!”

“You are quiet.” Stephanie slurped on her slushie, loudly and annoyingly.

“What a bright observation” he mocked.

“Aaaaaand he’s back.”

“Piss off!”

“Y/N asked you a question!”

“I know! I heard!”

“She had to call your names three times before you reacted!”

“Maybe I just like her saying my name!”

“You are blushing!”

“I am not blushing!”

“Enough!”

Y/N finally stepped in, deciding to cut off this family bantering and save Jason, thrown at the mercy of the wolves of his siblings. Of course they used the very rare moment of his sensitivity showing to tease him mercilessly and her poor fiancé did not deserve it.

“Oh, saved by the bell.” Damian smirked “if she will have to step up for you during your whole marriage then- OUCH!”

“I said enough. That includes you, Damian.” Perfectly aimed, though not that strong slap on the head made the youngest of the Wayne shut up. “Everyone out.”

“What?!”

“Y/n!”

“Come on, don’t be like that! You still got some dresses to try on!”

“I said: out. All of you. Now.”

With whines and groans of disappointment everyone moved to the exit.

Everyone, including Jason.

Y/N cleared her throat.

He turned around, looking at her questioningly.

“Not you.”

“No?”

“No. Of course not, you idiot. In case you missed something, you are the only person I wanted here from the start.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t be shy with me now. Better tell me how you like this dress.” She turned towards the mirror, looking at her reflection and playing with the layers of lace on the outfit.

“I think it would look better if-“

“Don’t finish that sentence!”

“You asked for my opinion!”

“Exactly! Opinion! Not your dirty thoughts and sinful desires.”

“Those are very strong words you are using here, sunshine…” he muttered, stepping behind her, wrapping arms on her waist and kissing the back of her neck “but you are not wrong…” one hand slipped to the zipper of her dress.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to buy it either way…”

“What? Why? You look so pretty in it!”

“Got your answer.” She teased, revealing how she played him.

“ha-ha! Very funny princess. Why don’t you want to buy it?” his grip on her hips tightened a little. “Look at us, look how we fit…” his chin rested on her shoulder as they watched themselves in the reflection.

“We do…” her voice was a soft whisper of affection and amusement, eyes flicked with love and hope for the future. “We do…” she snuggled a little further in his embrace, hoping for the love of god that he would not take it as an invitation and get any ideas.”

“Don’t you like the dress?” he asked softly, rubbing her sides affectionately.

“I do. But it’s expensive—”

“Wait. What? That’s your reasoning of let’s-not-buy-it? Really? Here.” He reached into his pocket, handing her his credit card. “Take this one. And that ivory one, I liked how it brought out your eyes. And you can also take something for the wedding reception. And preferably a little something for the wedding night?” he winked.

“I believe we’re in the wrong shop for the last one-“

“Then we’ll go to the right shop.”

“But Jason-“

“Don’t Jason me. Money is not the problem. In fact – keep my card.”

“What?”

“Shut up and take my money.”

“Jason!”

“Hm?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Better get used to it, sunshine. I intend to keep you amused for the rest of our lives.”

“That would indicate you are not planning to leave me at the altar.”

“Leave you? Never. No promises on letting you walk the aisle though. Cause I might just snatch you away from everyone and make sure that pretty dress you are buying ends up on the floor before even exchanging out vows…”

“I’m starting to regret casting your family out. At least you were behaving with them around.”

“But still – you like when I misbehave…”

His hands sneaked under the dress, traveling up her leg, spinning her around so she was now facing him, fingers inching higher and higher on the inside of her thigh-

“Jason…”

“hmmmm…”

“Are you really going to-?”

“I would love nothing more.” He whispered in her ear, getting bolder by a second. Having her in her wedding dress, then and there was doing so many things to him.

“Just so you know, I only got one dress like that! Limited edition! If you ruin it now, there’s no chance for you to wear the same on the wedding day!”

The saleswoman’s voice cut right into their ragged breaths and quickened heartbeats making them jump away from each other immediately.

“Wanna buy this and go home?” he smirked.

‘For what? Dress rehearsal?”

“Mh! You make me fall in love with you all over again.” His smirk grew wider.

It took them literally three minutes to buy the dress and rush home. And for the purposes of that night, there was no need for any clothes shopping.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #jason todd smut

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sitepathos · 3 months ago

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What if (Reader) just kills themselves? Or just find him dead somewhere

Does the Batfam care about him at all or just hate him completely?

Cause I'm slowly wanting to beat all of them up

I imagine then finding him dead or at least near death, instead of calling for Bruce, he calls for Alfred

And (reader) is literally batshit pun intended scared of everyone cause of trauma except for butler

I think if the Batfamily were to discover Reader dead, his body long since gone cold, it would be a slap in the face for all of them. For years, they’ve known that you exist, but couldn’t be bothered to really get to know you. Since you aren’t a vigilante and lack the capability to be trained and with all oof them having their own lives, they didn’t see the point in talking to you. Now, seeing their forgotten brother and son a corpse, they feel like shit. At your funeral, they try to talk about all the good times, but it’s only then do they realize most of them have never had a conversation with you, or even spent time with you.

And to top it all off, Alfred is PISSED at them. Sure, the butler’s expressed disappointment in all of them at some point (mostly over not properly caring for themselves), but this is different. He was just talking to you on that dreadful day and after not hearing from you for over 24 hours, he finds out that you’re dead and phone records show that the kidnappers tried to arrange a ransom, but not only do they not notice you missing, but they antagonize the man, no doubt leading to you paying the price.

He locks himself away in his room and no one tries to talk to him. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to hear from any of them. Inside his room, he’s quietly weeping, begging for your forgiveness. Had he known you’d meet with such a fate, he never would’ve left Gotham. Hell, he probably would’ve kept you in the manor, pulling you out of Gotham Academy and homeschooled you himself. Out of everyone in the family, you were the only normal one (the bar for “normal” in the Wayne Family is exceedingly low) and he treasured that more than anything. He knew you hated living at the manor, but he had hoped that he could convince you to at least stay in Gotham while he tried to get your father and siblings to notice you.

And now, you’ll never leave Gotham, buried in the Wayne Family Cemetery. Perhaps he should’ve let you leave when you turned eighteen. Sure, you’d be on the opposite side of the country, but at least you’d be alive.

Now, let’s say you decided to give your kidnappers Alfred’s number. The moment he’s told you’ve been kidnapped, he’s packing his bags and heading back to Gotham. He’s former Special Operations, so he no doubt has a few favors he can call in and in this case, he’s requesting the fastest plane available and flying it at top speed to Gotham. He arranges your ransom, over a million from Bruce’s personal account (Bruce has Alfred on all his bank accounts for safety reasons, but this is the first time he’s ever had to use it) and while he’s taking off at top speed, he’s on the phone with Bruce.

It doesn’t matter if he’s in the middle of a fight, Alfred knows how to make Bruce’s comm come on and the moment the line is open, he’s tearing the man a new one. Bruce isn’t able to say a word because his butler/father figure is spitting out 200 insults and threats a second. The last thing he says is: “I’ve arranged for the kidnappers to drop Master Y/N at the fairgrounds. I will be back within the hour and if he’s not back at the manor upon my return, you will not like what happens next. And god help you if a single hair of his is out of place.”

It’s been years since Bruce has known true fear (probably when he was rushing to save Jason and seeing the warehouse explode), but right now, he’s absolutely afraid of what will happen if he fails to bring you home. He rushes to the fairgrounds and sees you tied to some pole and blindfolded and he feels a world of guilt hit him in the gut.

You are his firstborn son and here you are, traumatized from some thugs. And if he didn’t feel like a piece of shit before, he really does when you tell him you not only knew he’s Batman, but that you were surprised that he’d be the one to save you. He actually sheds a few tears upon hearing that. He picks you up and refuses to let you go until you’re back home.

Things at Wayne Manor take a 180. When Bruce sees that you’ve been staying in a small guest room on the other side for the manor, he moves you to a room next to his; you’re not able to go anywhere, even within the house, without at least two of them following you; and they actually start treating you with decency, patting you on the head/back, greeting you in passing, having conversations with you, etc. They all feel guilty over their behavior towards you for over 10 years and try to make it up to you.

When Alfred tells them that you have plans to move back to Goodsprings, they beg you to stay in Gotham, Bruce even offering to put you up in a luxury apartment if you don’t want to stay in the manor. Just be prepared for them to visit at all hours everyday, even stoping by during their patrols.

#ask #yandere batfamily

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itneverendshere · 3 months ago

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I love pogue!reader and rafe sm. I’m so excited every time you post them ❤️ what if reader realizes she’s really falling for rafe and it’s getting serious so she’s tries to self sabotage and end it. She’s thinking he’s THE kook and she’s a pogue. It can’t last and she won’t survive that heartbreak. so rafe starts to panic but then realizes what’s she’s doing by ending it so he’s just like lol no nice try I’m not going anywhere

i would follow you home - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) word count: 3.1k

hope you enjoy, i love them too 🩵

It was mid-afternoon, that quiet lull between lunch and dinner when the regulars started to trickle in. And like clockwork, you were wiping down the bar, mindlessly watching the condensation drip from a glass of iced tea when you saw Rafe strolling in.

He always had that cocky walk, shoulders rolled back like he owns the place, which, you guess, technically he kinda did, or at least his dad did. Cameron Development Group practically built the country club.

He spotted you and the corner of his mouth lifted in that way that made your stomach flip. God, you hated how it still got to you.

After months of this—him swinging by the bar at the end of his golf games, lounging against the counter like it was no big deal, driving you home, saving you from the storms, letting you kiss him—your heart should’ve calmed the hell down. But no, here you were, butterflies fluttering in your chest, fingers tightening around the rag you were using to clean.

You tossed it on the counter and busy yourself with stacking glasses.

“Hey, stranger.” His voice was all smooth like he knew exactly what effect it had on you. And he did. You were still a shitty liar and he learned that fast.

You glanced up, trying to keep things cool, casual. “Hey yourself.”

He settled into one of the barstools, leaning forward, his blue eyes locking on yours. “You off soon?”

You shrugged. “Depends. Why?”

The truth was, you knew why. You knew exactly what he was asking.

He was wondering if you would have time after this—time to sneak off to that little spot by the docks where you'd been meeting up, where things between you had been getting more…a little complicated?

And that’s exactly why you needed to end this.

It’s not like you hadn’t seen it coming. You’d known for a while that whatever this thing was with Rafe, it was headed in a direction you couldn’t afford to follow. He was the poster child for Kook royalty. Born with a silver spoon and all that. Meanwhile, you were still just the bartender, a Pogue, barely scraping by.

It started simple—quick conversations after work, long talks on the drive home, those random texts at 2 a.m. that turned into hours of you two confessing things you’d never say out loud to anyone else.

You din’t know when it shifted into this—this weird gray area where everything felt more intense. Maybe when you all but kissed him when he picked you up after the storm. That had to be it.

Because you knew how this story ended. You knew what happened when a girl like you fell for a guy like Rafe Cameron.

Heartbreak.

And you wouldn’t survive that.

“I’ve been thinking,” You blurted out, suddenly very aware of the way his eyes were still on you. Too aware. You reached for a clean glass, filling it with soda water to distract yourself. “Maybe we should… I dunno, cool it for a bit.”

His smirk faltered. “Cool it?”

“Yeah,” You shrugged again, trying to seem nonchalant, even though your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. “I mean, this was fun and all, but let’s be real—”

“Be real?”

You nodded, not daring to look up from the glass you were holding.

“We’re not exactly from the same world, Rafe. It was bound to end sooner or later. Might as well rip the band-aid off now.”

Silence. For a beat, he doesn’t say anything, and for a second you wonder if you had done it—if you’d actually convinced him that this wasn’t worth it, that he should’ve just walked away and left you with at least a sliver of your heart intact.

Then he laughed.

It wasn’t like a mocking laugh, but it was still a sound you weren’t expecting. Your eyes snapped up to his face, and you saw that damn smirk was back. Only this time, there was something softer in his eyes, something almost… amused?

“Oh, I see what this is.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking way too pleased with himself.

You frowned, instinctively grabbing a towel and wiping the counter again, trying to distract yourself from the way his eyes were making you feel seen. Too seen.

“What?”

“You’re scared.”

Your stomach dropped. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupted, standing up and rounding the bar until he was way too close, until you could smell the cologne clinging to his skin and the fresh grass scent of the golf course. He caged you in with his body, one hand gripping the counter behind you, the other reaching up to tilt your chin so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You’re trying to push me away because you’re scared. But newsflash, sweetheart—nice try. I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight, because damn it, he was right. He was completely, 100% right, and you hated it. You hated that he could see right through you like that, see all your fears, all the things you’d been trying so hard to bury.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

You didn’t know what to say because, deep down, you didn’t want to believe that it mattered to him. You wanted to believe that he saw you for more than just the girl behind the bar. But every time you let yourself get close, that voice in the back of your head reminded you that this wasn’t some fairytale.

“Rafe, you’ll get bored,” you mumbled, barely able to get the words out. “You’ll realize this was just… a phase. I mean, we’re friends, right? We can just… go back to that.”

“Go back to that?” He repeated your words slowly like he was testing them out. And then he laughed—this short, disbelieving sound that made your stomach twist, “You’re trying to run.”

“Am not.”

“You are.

“There’s nothing to run from,” You snapped, though even you didn’t believe that.

He was close enough now that you had to tilt your head almost all the way back to meet his eyes, and there was something so raw, so real in the way he was looking at you that you couldn’t breathe.

“Nothing, huh?”

“Nothing,” you managed to repeat, but the word came out more like a question than a statement. The self-doubt you’d been trying to ignore bubbled up, and you hated yourself for it.

He leaned in closer, and you could feel his breath against your skin. “If you think there’s nothing between us, then why does it hurt so much to even think about letting it go?”

His words hit a particular soft spot, and you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that you could walk away and be fine.

But the truth was, you weren’t fine. You weren’t even close to fine.

The whole time you’d been telling yourself this was just a fling, some wild phase that would burn out eventually—because that was what made sense. You weren’t supposed to fall for the guy who came from money and lived in a mansion on the hill, while you were still sharing a room with your sister in a run-down house, after yours got destroyed, on the wrong side of the island.

This was never supposed to be real.

“You don’t get it. You’ve never had to worry about—about someone like me not fitting into your life. You don’t have people looking at you and thinking ‘what the hell is he doing with her?’”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and his thumb brushed a light circle against your waist, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Who cares what people think? I’m not with them. I’m with you.”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him, stepping back just enough to put some space between you.

"No. No, it’s not that simple. You don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to always be the one left behind. You’ll get bored, and then what? You just walk away and I’m the one left picking up the pieces."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you weren’t done.

"And don't say you won’t, because everyone does! I’ve seen this before. I’ve been through it. I don’t survive guys like you." Your voice cracked, and damn it, you hated how vulnerable you sounded, but it was too late. It was all spilling out now, all the fear you’d kept bottled up.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and instead of the cocky smirk you expected, there was something different in his eyes. Anger? No, frustration maybe. But not at you.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his cool. “You think I’m just some guy playing games, huh? That I’m gonna wake up one day and decide you’re not worth it?”

You crossed your arms, hugging yourself as if that would protect you from the way his words were hitting you too hard. “Isn’t that what happens?”

“No. Not with me.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do know that!” His voice rose, and you flinched a little, caught off guard by the intensity.

He noticed and apologized immediately, stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours but stopping just short. "I’m here, with you. Because I want to be. Don’t you get that?"

You hated the way he was looking at you, the way his words hit with brutal honesty you weren’t used to—it made you pause. Your eyes fleeted away, focusing on the floor because looking at him was too much.

"Just let me go," you whispered, "It’ll hurt less now."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and before you could pull back, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you in one swift move.

His hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes, and there was no escape from the intensity in them.

"No," he said, firm but quiet. "I’m not letting you go. You’re not pushing me away. I’m not leaving, no matter how hard you try to sabotage this."

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you shook your head, trying to argue, but then his lips were on yours, cutting off whatever weak protest you had left. The kiss wasn’t gentle or slow—it was harsh, like he was trying to make you understand something without words.

And damn it, you kissed him back. Because of course, you did.

Because despite everything you said, everything you feared, you wanted this. You wanted him. But the second you felt yourself giving in, you pushed him back, your hands pressed against his chest, trying to regain some control.

"Stop doing that," you snapped, breathless.

"Doing what?" He sounded just as breathless, but he didn’t step away.

"Kissing me like you can fix this. Like—like I’m just gonna believe you."

He exhaled sharply, his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close. "You don’t have to believe me now, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll prove it to you, okay? Just stop trying to run every time it gets hard."

"I don’t know how to do this," you admitted quietly, your hands still resting against his chest, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

"I’ll show you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Just stop pushing me away."

For a moment, you let yourself just be there with him, your defenses crumbling piece by piece. You didn’t know how long it would last, or if you could even survive it, but maybe… just maybe, he was worth the risk.

But still, you couldn’t help but mutter, "You’re so stupid, you know that?"

His lips twitched into a smile. “And you’re still kissing me, again, so what does that say about you?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your lips twitched with a smirk of your own.

“Says I’m just as stupid as you,” you muttered under your breath, but the words lacked bite. Your hands stayed on his chest, fingers still gripping his polo like you were afraid to let go, like maybe if you held on tight enough, you wouldn’t fall apart, “Do you always go around kissing the saff?” You mumbled out.

Rafe’s hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you in closer. His forehead still rested against yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and steady, brushing against your skin. It was infuriating how easy it was to melt into him.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the start of a grin, “Only the ones who can’t seem to stay away from me.”

You groaned, shoving him in the chest with just enough force to make him stumble back a step. “God, you’re insufferable.”

He caught your wrists before you could pull away completely, his grip gentle, keeping you close enough that you could still feel the warmth of his skin through your clothes. “Yeah, well, you seem to like insufferable.”

“Do I though?” You quipped, trying to sound indifferent, but your heartbeat was giving you away. You could feel it hammering in your chest, “Because I feel like this whole thing is a bad idea. You know, like ‘kiss the rich guy, ruin your life’ kind of bad idea.”

Rafe’s expression softened, and the teasing glint in his eyes faded. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” You tried to play dumb.

“Talk like this doesn’t mean something. Like I don’t mean something to you.” His voice was low, but there was a seriousness in it that made your stomach flip. “We’ve been doing this dance for a while now, and every time it starts to get real, you act like it’s just… casual.”

Your throat tightened, and you tried to pull your wrists free, but he didn’t let go, making it clear he wasn’t letting you run again.

“Maybe it is casual,” you said, even though the words tasted like a lie. “Maybe we’re just two people having a good time, and that’s it.”

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way that made your chest ache. “Nah. You’re not fooling me anymore. You don’t kiss someone like you kissed me just for fun.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “Rafe…”

“And you don’t look at me like that when I walk in unless there’s more to it.” His voice softened as his thumb traced light circles against your skin. “So stop pretending it’s nothing.”

“I should be working.”

But Rafe wasn’t letting you off that easy. “Yeah, you probably should,” he said, but his hands didn’t move, and neither did his eyes.

“So you’re gonna let me go?”

“Why’d you kiss me that day?” he asked, "I’ve been wondering.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the question. He was so close, and it was hard to think, let alone answer something that felt so…disarming like everything you’d been running from was waiting in his words.

"I don’t know," you groaned, suddenly feeling like a cornered animal. "I wasn’t thinking straight."

His fingers traced a slow line down your arm, sending shivers through you. "You sure about that?" His voice was quiet, like he already knew you were lying, knew you too well for you to hide behind that excuse. "Because it didn’t feel like just some random kiss."

You scoffed, trying to laugh it off, trying to keep your cool, but the sound came out shaky.

"It was— I don’t know, Rafe. It was just the heat of the moment, okay? The storm… everything." You bit your lip, avoiding his gaze because you knew he wasn’t buying it. "You saved me, and I guess I was—"

"Grateful?" he interrupted, his brow arching. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

You winced. "I didn’t mean it like that."

“Yeah, well, it sure sounds like you’re trying to make it seem like it meant nothing. Like you didn’t feel anything when you kissed me.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to respond right away. He wasn’t wrong. That kiss had meant something—maybe more than you were ready to admit to yourself, let alone to him.

“You can’t keep acting like you don’t care, because I know you do. You wouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t.”

The way he said it, so certain, so sure of himself—it made your heart race even faster.

“Why do you care so much?” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Why does it matter?”

He frowned, like you had just asked the stupidest question in the world. “Because it matters to me.”

Your chest tightened at that, and you hated how much you wanted to believe him. "I don’t want to get hurt, Rafe."

"I’m not gonna hurt you." His voice was low, serious, like a promise, but you’d heard promises like that before. "I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. I’m asking for a chance, just one chance. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest tightened as you stared up at him. He was serious. Like, really serious. And you were scared out of your mind because you wanted to believe him so badly. But trusting someone, letting them in? That was terrifying.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, finally admitting it out loud.

“I know,” he murmured, his forehead resting gently against yours. “But I’m scared too, okay? I want to be with you. So, please, just… give us a shot.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, your mind racing a hundred miles per hour.

You could still feel his lips on yours, the way he made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could let your guard down for once. And the truth was, despite all the reasons you’d been telling yourself to walk away, your heart was telling you to stay.

“Okay.”

His breath caught. “Okay?”

You opened your eyes, “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you a chance. Don’t screw it up.”

Rafe’s lips curved into that stupid, cocky grin, “I won’t. I promise.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but instead, you found yourself smiling back.

Maybe this was crazy, maybe you were setting yourself up for heartbreak or maybe you’d really found yourself a soulmate.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron au #rafe x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe x pogue!reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe x y/n #rafe x oc #rafe fluff #rafe cameron universe #requested

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hana-no-seiiki · 7 months ago

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WHY DON’T YOU GIVE ME A SMILE? (ACT 2)

YANDERE! BATFAM x JINX (ARCANE/LEAGUE)-ESQUE! READER

[ ACT ONE HERE ]

cw/tw: mentally ill reader. schizophrenic reader. reader w/ abandonment issues. manipulative reader. crimes. arson.

summary: we dive deeper into Gotham's explosive personality and history with those that took the title of ‘boy wonder’

MORE ON YOUR ORIGINS

“They were right! You’re just a Jinx.”

“Everybody shut up! I need to think!”

“We weren’t . . . “

As much as you scared the crap out of Joker’s goons. Since they saw you grow up first hand. A lot of them tended to be overprotective over you.

I mean, they’re insane enough to follow Joker. What more you?

They see you as his successor. An heir of sorts.

Which is why Jason Todd felt like he had no choice but to either fix you or keep you locked up.

You don’t remember much of him. If you did you would hate him.

He was the one that essentially helped you pull the trigger on your family.

If you haven’t read my other posts about it, here’s the rundown.

Jason had a massive crush on reader when the two of em were kids. Prior to everything. Before he was adopted, before reader set their world ablaze, before shit hit the fan essentially.

He saw how neglected you felt. The rejection you faced from your peers for not being strong enough. For being small and weak.

Him and your sister were pretty popular amongst the kids but it only made the comparisons worse.

It was always how they were “twice the kids at [Y/N]’s age.”

And so he thought of a little gift. Just a little something to show the others how cool you really are.

He didn’t expect you to use it that way. And the worst part of it all, he wasn’t there to comfort you. I mean sure, dozens of people died that day. Many of which he was somewhat fond of. But he was sure they’d want him to comfort you. To say that it wasn’t your fault.

And despite all that, you only knew Jason as that one guy Joker went too far with.

“Hey, [N/N].”

The call of your name almost froze you on the spot. Their screams pushed forward from the back of your mind into the forefront. You didn’t think. Your hands just pulled the trigger of your machine gun on its own.

“Who the hell are you?” You grit your teeth. You’ve heard of this Red Hood going around and ruining your adoptive father’s plans lately.

And what’s worse? The man kept forcing you to stay away. Plying you with all sorts of prostitutes and all the money you could ever need or want.

Despite your hostile disposition, the man in question doesn’t return it. “I’m sorry. This was all my fault. I shouldn’t have left you behind.”

“Leave.” You lowered your machine gun. A sudden wave of drowsiness overwhelmed you. A sense of calm. Weakness. Everything was screaming at you to end the source. But if he kept dodging your bullets them perhaps diplomacy would work.

You breathed out. [Y/N]. That name, that identity — though it fell down a well and was long dead it still had it uses.

Softened voice, doe eyes, and posture loose. If you had no other weapon they you always had your vulnerability.

“You need to leave, Joker is coming soon and I can’t help you if you’re caught.”

“Who was that, Jinx?” Joker asked.

You turned around. Your eyes meeting his chest and then his face, where that wide, freakish grin was stuck unto him.

“Old man, I think you mean what.” The toxic pink glint flashed through your eyes as you once again buried your old self along with the rest of the corpses that have met their demise by your hand.

“Meet Fishbones.”

BACK TO YOUR RIVAL:

Recently Tim had been . . . more agreeable to your demands somewhat?

You could tell he was pulling his punches.

Sometimes he’d even join you in your exploits.

You never trusted him of course. You never trusted anyone but yourself. But he was fun to be around is all. Whether it was you two beating each other to near death or blowing up buildings (he made sure to evacuate its residents before you two went all out).

“You know. I kinda wanna blow up that building. Don’t you think we’ll have a better view of the sky that way, Timmy?” You pointed to the structure with your signature gun shaped hand gesture.

That was one of Bruce’s buildings.

“You . . . “ Tim blinked at you a couple of times. “are so right.”

“Let’s go.” You yanked him the hand.

Tim smiled. Even if he wasn’t making direct contact with your skin, and you with his — he couldn’t help but smile at the intimacy of this moment. What were his worries with you beside him? All the sadness and anger felt so fleeting when he was with you.

His glee almost costed him his life as it took him a couple of moments to realize that you have pushed him off a building after a while of parkour.

He managed to grapple himself back, and with your assistance, he got back up to the ledge you two were on.

He gave you one half hearted glare. You laugh at his face, “You’re such a loser! Always ready to cry! Wah wah wah!” And you set off. Getting within the building with no care for stealth whatsoever.

What was the point of being all sneaky like when you had bombs on you?

"Wait up! Get back here!" Tim ran after you. He didn’t mind that you were essentially destroying all his and Bruce’s hard-work on his industries, but you were being too reckless. He would sure as hell minded if you were caught.

Turns out he wasn’t so far off when it came to his fears and suspicions.

“You. You set me up.” You glared at him. Hands on your blaster. Ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Your eyes flicking between the men in front of you, wondering who was best to pick off first.

Batman, Nightwing, or the man you stupidly thought was your friend.

“No. No you have to believe me I—“ Tim tried to explain. But Dick cuts him off, “Good job, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You traitor. I knew it. I knew it.” Your voice got weaker and weaker.

No, no, no. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t part of the plan. Tim was supposed to be with you for longer.

“I told you, you have no choice.” Bruce finally spoke. His cape moved to his back.

He wasn’t going to let you go. Not without making it bloody.

“Oh, boohoo. You’ve always been no fun!” Your eyes never leave the two dark suited men, but Tim knew you were speaking to him. “Good thing I never trusted you.”

And you take a deep breath, dropping the laughing gas Harley gave you for emergencies. It wasn’t as strong as the original one, hell you’re sure that those people probably expected that move. But it at least blocked their line of sights on you, allowing you to create some distance.

You managed to get far enough to ready your weapons and send a call of help to your adoptive parents before your prediction proved to be true — footsteps behind you; loud and clear.

“Look’s like we’ve got even more company. Huh, boy savior?”

“Don’t move and I won’t cut you down.”

Pow pow in your hand, and desperation in your mind. The last thing you heard is a blade unsheathing before you pull the trigger.

୨ ©️ ୧⸝⸝﹕hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2024﹐⊂☁️⊃ ‹𝟹

AUTHOR’s NOTE: YALL THOUGHT THIS WAS GONE!! WELL THINK AGAIN!! I AM BACK!!! Sorry for the late update!! Man I’m so excited for season 2 of arcane ahahsheudidj

Taglist: @w31rdg1rl @cherry-peach-flavored @ice-cream-writes-stuff @speckle-meow-meow @inejghafawifesblog @sitepathos @mimiissia @rolo-at-midnight @mossyvampire @kawaiimusiccollection @harpy-space @takottai @maddeningmangos @obsessed-with-a-fictional @ihatemylifeuwu @caramelstrikezz @szapizzapanda @vanessa-boo @imbiafandbored @victor-rose @earphonejack09 @rainnyydaysworld @bubbabobabubbles @ksziggy @evan-trand @emo-z0mbiezzz @nyra-42 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @orangeboulevard @alwayszealousdetective @huhuhhuhh @iwasveronica @imginarygirl @nebuluma @heyitsaloy @mysticalhills

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kokokoula · 2 months ago

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drunk confessions

a/n: wow i haven't posted in a long while hahaha thanks for staying :) i'm so burnt out from exams please tolerate me🥲 again, not beta read, my beta reader is busy as heck because of a hellish sch system. also, i wrote all of this at 3am, i hope it's still readable TT (this is obvi in timeskip no underage drinking guys)

---

"i think i love you."

you rest your head on your palm, gazing at him with soft eyes and warm cheeks. you reek of alcohol; tsukishima doesn't seem to care.

the two of you sit by the bar at the far end, where the light jazz music gets faint. he's thinking clearly, only a bit red from a drink or two— or is it something else?— while you're flat out drunk. his eyes widen slightly at your confession, and pauses.

"don't say things you don't mean." tsukishima eventually brushes you off, pushing his glasses further up. despite that, his heart beats a little faster, and he hates it.

you splay out your arms across the countertop, burying your face in them. he takes the last swig of his drink. there is the distant sound of glasses clinking and a cheer.

"tsukki?" his name is a bit slurred as you turn to him again. your hair is in a tangled mess, locks of it falling over your eyes. he resists the urge to tuck them away and behind your ear.

tsukishima nudges your foot: a sign to continue.

"y'know, when i first met you, i thought you were an arrogant, self-centred bastard. i hated you." you state, fiddling with your empty shot glass. wow, and just when he thought things were getting intimate.

"where exactly are you going with this?" he frowns at you.

"we used to bicker about almost everything at school. i can't count how many times yamaguchi had to step in." you giggle, hiccuping at the end. you didn't seem to have heard him but he doesn't mind. he shakes his head, a small smile appearing on his face; you look so cute being lost in your own world.

"remember it was our last class, and it happened to rain that day? you laughed at me because i didn't bring an umbrella." yes, he remembers. tadashi was sick that day, and the both of you ended up getting lectured many times by teachers for your incessant arguments. he almost chuckles at the thought of it.

"i didn't expect to find your umbrella in my shoe locker after you left, though. you said you had an extra when i confronted you about it but yamaguchi already told me you had returned home drenched." tsukishima's face starts to burn. shit, being reminded of how down bad he was—and still is— is embarrassing. he wishes he was much cooler about it.

"i couldn't accept that you were capable of being nice, let alone to me..." it's even more so because of you.

"...till i realised you're nothing like what i thought you were. you admit your own faults, are too hard on yourself, and incredibly encouraging of your friends in your own complicated way. hell, even to hinata and kageyama!" you're sitting upright now, your hands making exaggerated movements as you talk. you take a deep breath in.

"it's your fault that i can't stop thinking about you, and that i get so sickeningly happy when i see you. so shuddup, i do mean it when i said i think, no wait, i know i love you." you rebuke him, pointing your finger at him like an angry child.

you have done it. you've lit his face on fire with your words. he can't tear his eyes away from your piercing gaze.

tsukishima isn't the most affectionate person, but maybe it's the late hour, or the influence of the alcohol, because he reaches over to caress the back of your head and bring you closer to him. his lips softly presses against your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling away. he sees your eyes sparkle.

since kei believes actions speak louder than words, he hopes you know that this, everything, means something to him.

bonus

#tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei fluff #tsukishima x you #haikyuu x you #i've been itching to post anything tsukki related

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creamflix · 26 days ago

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cw: some more college frenemy turned lover sukuna, mentions of seasonal depression. reader's implied to be shorter than sukuna. mentions of sex [nothing too detailed], needy sukuna & ovulating reader. reader is sick [no specifics] but recovers. part one part two

[pre-relationship]

it had been one of those days, or maybe one of those weeks, when everything felt heavy. the good ol' seasonal depression had wrapped itself around you like an unwelcome blanket — making you short with people, prone to snapping at anyone who dared talk to you. the crying jags came in waves, always in private, because god forbid anyone saw you like this.

you’d hit the peak of it that day, lying on your dorm bed with the lights dimmed, wallowing in the uncomfortable mix of self-pity and disgust. you couldn’t even bear to look at yourself in the mirror.

god, this fucking sucks, you thought, curled up under a blanket you hadn’t washed in weeks.

so when the knock on your door came, your first instinct was to ignore it. but whoever it was didn’t stop.

“open up, woman,” came the unmistakable growl of sukuna’s voice, muffled through the door.

sukuna? of all people? no, absolutely not.

“go away,” you yelled, voice hoarse from earlier tears. “i’m not in the mood.”

“too bad,” he replied. there was a click as the lock turned, and your door creaked open. of course, the bastard had your spare key.

you glared at him from your cocoon of misery as he strolled in, completely unbothered. “what the hell, sukuna?”

but he didn’t say a word. instead, he set down a bag on your desk, pulling out containers one by one. it wasn’t takeout — no, this was the real deal.

you could smell the savory warmth of a proper, home-cooked meal, the kind you hadn’t had in weeks.

“what are you doing?” you asked, voice cracking halfway through.

“what’s it look like? you looked like shit last time i saw you, so i figured you weren’t eating,” he said, not even sparing you a glance as he set up. “i made extras. don’t read into it.”

you blinked at him, utterly speechless. sukuna, the guy who could barely sit through a conversation without teasing or insulting you, had checked on you. had brought food.

“don’t just sit there staring. eat before it gets cold,” he grumbled, handing you a pair of chopsticks.

you didn’t know what came over you. maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation, or maybe it was the crack in the walls you’d built around yourself, but the tears started up again.

“are you — shit, are you crying?” he asked, looking genuinely alarmed.

you shook your head, laughing through the sobs. “no, i just — this is stupid. you’re stupid.”

“yeah, well, so are you,” he said, but his tone was softer than usual, almost hesitant.

and that was when it hit you — this man, this brash, stubborn idiot who usually drove you up the wall, had just done something no one else had thought to do. he’d shown up, no fanfare, no dramatics, just... him.

you didn’t know if you were crying out of amusement or the slow, dawning realization that you liked him.

not in the “i want to beat the shit out of you” way you always spoke about, but in a way that made your chest ache and your hands tremble as you accepted the bowl of food he pushed into them.

sukuna, for once, didn’t say anything. he just sat across from you, eating his own portion in silence, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

sukuna had always thought of himself as untouchable, even back in his reckless college days. he was the guy — cocky, brash, and always down to settle things with his fists.

but apparently, third-year bravado wasn’t enough to stop a couple of fourth-years from giving him a thorough beatdown after some trash-talking got out of hand.

he sat slumped on the back steps of the dorms, his knuckles split and bleeding, a bruise already blooming on his cheekbone. he looked like a mangy alley cat that had lost a turf war, sulking in the dim light. his pride was bruised worse than his body, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him like this.

so, of course, you showed up.

“what the hell is wrong with you?”

his head shot up, and there you were, standing over him like a storm cloud ready to unleash. he groaned, leaning his head back against the brick wall. “not in the mood for this, woman.”

“yeah? too bad,” you snapped, dropping your bag and crouching in front of him. “who the hell told you to pick a fight with people who could bench press your ass?”

he scowled. “they started it.”

“oh, real mature, sukuna,” you shot back, and before he could stop you, your hand reached out to prod at the gash on his lip.

“ow, fuck! what the hell, woman?” he hissed, jerking away.

“good. serves you right,” you muttered, but your tone had softened, just barely.

normally, anyone poking at his wounds like that — literally or figuratively — would’ve had him snapping back, but you? you were different. there was no pity in your eyes, no overly sweet words of comfort. just your usual fire, tempered with a concern you couldn’t quite mask.

“seriously, you’re such an idiot,” you muttered, shaking your head as you pulled a crumpled tissue from your bag and dabbed at the blood on his temple. he could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat.

what the fuck?

“if you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself killed before you even graduate,” you added, tossing the tissue aside.

“and then what? who’s gonna be left to annoy me, huh?”

and there it was — the real concern, hidden in your usual brashness, the kind of care he hadn’t realized he needed until now. it hit him like a punch to the gut, harder than anything those fourth-years had thrown at him.

shit, he thought, watching as you rummaged through your bag for more tissues. this is bad. this is really bad.

because sukuna, for all his bravado and pride, had never met anyone like you. someone who didn’t sugarcoat things, who could yell at him and still make him feel cared for, all without losing an ounce of their fire.

and in that moment, bruised and bleeding on the back steps of the dorms, he realized he didn’t just like you. no, it was worse than that.

he was falling for you, and he almost wanted to slap himself for it.

it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. just a party, one of those things where music blared loud enough to drown out any coherent thought and the smell of cheap beer lingered in every corner. you weren’t one to shy away from fun, and when your friend threw a house party, you were there — decked out, dancing like no one was watching.

except someone was watching.

and that someone was sukuna.

he wasn’t the type to dance. ever. the guy barely showed up to parties, and when he did, he was more likely to hang back, leaning against a wall with a drink in hand, sizing people up like he was too good for all of this.

so when you felt someone move in behind you on the dance floor, your first instinct was to spin around and yell — because who the hell dared to — but then you saw him.

sukuna.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said, loud enough to be heard over the music, crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

“what?” he shot back, one brow raised in that infuriatingly smug way. “you’re the only one allowed to have fun?”

“you? fun?” you retorted, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “don’t make me laugh.”

but then he stepped closer, moving with a confidence that was almost infuriating. “what, scared i’ll show you up?”

and somehow, against all odds, there you were — dancing with sukuna, of all people.

the height difference was almost comical. you barely reached his chest, and the way he had to lean down slightly to match your movements made you want to punch him and laugh at the same time. but then the lights shifted, flashing dark and soft, and you caught a glimpse of his expression.

he wasn’t smirking. he wasn’t teasing. no, he was just...looking at you.

and maybe it was the music, or the way his hands hovered near your waist, almost as if he wanted to hold you but wasn’t sure if he should. maybe it was the heat of the moment, or the fact that his presence was so overwhelming that it made your skin tingle.

but for just a second, you forgot how much he pissed you off.

for just a second, it felt like there was no one else on that dance floor.

it’s just dancing, you told yourself, stubbornly ignoring the flutter in your chest.

but a small, treacherous part of you whispered otherwise.

and sukuna? for once, he didn’t have a snarky comment ready.

because maybe, just maybe, he felt the same.

sukuna wasn’t supposed to be here.

you didn’t invite him, didn’t even know how he managed to sneak past your dormmate without some sort of confrontation. yet there he was, sprawled out on your bed like it was his own, watching you from behind with that insufferable expression he always wore.

“what?” you asked, not even looking at him as you lined your lips in the mirror, the curve of a soft hum escaping between phrases of a song playing from your speaker.

he should’ve had some snarky response locked and loaded, but all he could do was grunt and cross his arms, hating how comfortable he felt in your space. hating the way he couldn’t seem to look away from you.

watching you do your makeup was...annoying. not because of what you were doing — hell, it was a miracle you weren’t barking at him to get out — but because you looked so damn at peace.

the way you focused, brows furrowed just slightly, the way your lips moved to the lyrics, and the subtle glow of your skin under the desk lamp — all of it was maddening.

“what’re you getting all dolled up for?” he finally muttered, though it came out harsher than he meant.

“what do you care?” you shot back, smirking at him in the mirror.

he wanted to laugh, maybe make some comment about how ridiculous it was seeing you, of all people, sitting there with your brushes and powders. but he couldn’t.

not when his chest felt tight, not when his heart was doing that thing again.

the thing it did every time you smiled at him, or laughed at something he said, or even scolded him for being an idiot.

he hated it.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you teased, breaking his spiral as you turned to look at him fully. “what’s your problem, huh?”

he scoffed, leaning back like he was trying to hide how flustered he felt. “nothing. you’re just taking forever.”

but the truth was, he could’ve sat there all day, watching you hum to some dumb song and seeing you completely oblivious to how much space you were taking up in his head.

and he hated it more than anything.

sukuna didn’t know what possessed him to say it.

one second, he was mindlessly doodling on the edge of his notes while you ranted about some equation, and the next, the words slipped out.

"you know," he said, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk, "if you spent half as much time looking at me as you do those numbers, maybe you'd actually get something worthwhile."

the silence that followed was deafening.

you froze mid-sentence, blinking at him like he'd just declared his undying love for algebra. the sheer audacity of his comment caught you so off guard, it took you a moment to process it.

"sorry, what?" you asked, lips twitching like you were trying to decide between laughing or strangling him.

shit. he tried to play it off.

"relax," he said, rolling his eyes and tapping his pen on the table. "just wanted to try it out — thought it'd work on some chick, y'know?"

but even as the words left his mouth, he hated himself for them. he didn’t want to try it on "some chick." hell, he didn’t even care if it worked.

because the truth — the one he couldn’t bring himself to admit — was that he only wanted to use lines like that on you.

the way you narrowed your eyes at him, a flicker of amusement breaking through your confusion, made his chest tighten.

“oh, please,” you scoffed, turning back to your notes with a shake of your head. “your charm’s as subtle as a punch to the face.”

he let out a low laugh, rubbing the back of his neck to cover how flustered he felt.

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, though his smirk lingered. “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

and as you rolled your eyes and muttered something under your breath, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking:

if spending a lifetime throwing stupid lines your way meant seeing that spark in your eyes, he’d happily do it forever.

[post college]

jealousy wasn’t a concept that fit neatly into the dynamic you and sukuna shared. it wasn’t the clichéd, possessive, screaming type of jealousy; no, you both knew better. your bond wasn’t fragile enough to crack under a stray glance or a whispered comment.

still, it didn’t stop that little itch of annoyance when the world decided to test you.

like when the two of you were out, maybe just walking through the park or sitting at a café, and you’d notice a group of women openly staring at sukuna. the bolder ones would even giggle behind their hands, casting you a pitying glance, as if you were second place in a competition they didn’t know you’d already won.

your reaction? subtle but telling. your hand would slide into his, your fingers curling with a bit more force than necessary, or your arm would snake around his waist, tugging him closer. sukuna never said anything about it, but the ghost of a smirk would creep onto his lips when he felt you cling tighter.

on the flip side, sukuna’s patience ran razor-thin whenever men stared at you.

a simple grocery run turned into an internal boxing match when some random guy decided to ogle you. sukuna noticed everything: the way their eyes lingered too long or the way they adjusted their posture, suddenly trying to puff up like they had a chance.

his solution? pure, unspoken possessiveness. he’d sidle up behind you, lean down slightly, and pinch your waist with those stupidly sharp fingers of his. “yo, you done taking forever with the eggs?” he’d grumble, his tone casual, but his eyes screamed a warning to anyone watching.

“sukuna,” you’d hiss, swatting at his hand.

“what? you’re hogging the cart,” he’d tease, his grin wide and borderline feral.

despite the undercurrent of irritation, neither of you let it escalate. you knew the truth — they could stare all they wanted, but at the end of the day, it was you and sukuna at home.

and what a home it was.

the two of you, lazing on the couch, matching face masks making you look ridiculous. a bottle of wine cracked open, your glasses clinking every so often as you toasted to nothing in particular. sukuna’s legs stretched out while you curled into his side, scrolling through your phones or chatting about nonsense.

“those girls today were embarrassing,” you’d snort, leaning your head back against him.

“you’re one to talk,” he’d reply, tilting his head to glance at you, his lips quirking up. “you almost crushed my hand back there.”

you’d roll your eyes, but your cheeks would burn. “and you didn’t have to pinch me at the store like that, idiot.”

“you liked it.”

“in your dreams.”

despite the bickering, the quiet security between you spoke volumes. jealousy had no real place when you both knew where your priorities — and hearts — truly lay. sitting there, face masks peeling, wine glasses half-empty, the two of you had the last laugh.

because who was really winning? you were.

every single time.

there were moments when sukuna despised himself for feeling this way. like some hormonal teenager with no control over his thoughts — or his body. it wasn’t that your sex life lacked anything; far from it. but sometimes, the gaps between those moments stretched longer than he liked, leaving him restless.

still, he never wanted to pressure you, so he let that frustration churn quietly, manifesting in ways he thought were subtle but were anything but.

he’d start hugging you from behind more often, leaning his chin on your shoulder as his hands rested on your waist. sometimes, those hands would wander, not entirely inappropriate but lingering long enough to leave a warmth buzzing under your skin.

then there were the patterns he’d draw on your bare arm or thigh, tracing slow, deliberate circles and lines that felt more like a challenge than idle affection. his touch grew heavier, like he was silently willing you to notice the tension coiling in him.

and of course, the biting.

sukuna didn’t just bite; it was a teasing nip here, a playful graze of his teeth there, as if testing how far he could go before you caught on.

sleep became a whole other battlefield. when he held you at night, his arms felt just a little tighter around you, his breathing a little more labored when your body shifted against him. and god help him if he woke up sporting a hard-on. the sheer embarrassment of it was enough to make him curse himself silently, knowing full well you’d tease him mercilessly if you noticed.

but you did notice. you always did.

at first, you chalked it up to his usual antics, but the signs became impossible to ignore. the extra clinginess, the not-so-innocent touches, the way he grumbled under his breath when you’d wriggle out of his grasp. it clicked one evening when he bit you for what felt like the tenth time that week, muttering something about how you “tasted too sweet to resist.”

you didn’t even call him out on it directly. instead, you turned around, cupped his face, and kissed him — deep, slow, and deliberate. it was enough to make him stiffen in surprise before pulling you in with a low growl, all pretense of subtlety abandoned.

the next morning, you woke up tangled in his arms, your hair a mess and your body sore in all the best ways. sukuna was still half-asleep, his hair sticking up in odd angles and his expression dazed as he blinked at you.

“what’re you smiling at?” he grumbled, voice thick with sleep.

you bit your lip to keep from laughing outright. “nothing. just thinking how demanding someone’s been lately.”

his groan was immediate, his arm pulling you closer as he buried his face into your neck. “shut up.”

“make me,” you teased, only to yelp when he nipped at your shoulder.

even in his flustered state, sukuna didn’t miss the way your laughter rang through the room, filling the space with a warmth he’d never admit he craved.

you hated how sukuna always seemed to know.

even without saying a word, the bastard could read you like a book. it was during that time — ovulation, the dreaded period of feeling like your hormones were running a marathon — that he seemed to turn into some kind of smug mind reader.

it wasn’t just his ability to track your cycle; no, it was the way he started doing the most mundane things yet somehow making them seem... irresistible.

he’d be in the kitchen, flipping omelets like some five-star chef, forearms flexing just right, wearing that damn apron that only added to the appeal.

or he’d be dusting the house, his sleeves rolled up, exposing those tattooed arms that seemed carved by the gods themselves. and the worst part? he wasn’t even trying. sukuna was just living his life, completely oblivious — or so you thought.

but in reality, sukuna was absolutely aware. he’d caught on to your little quirks long ago — the subtle huffs of frustration, the way you avoided looking at him too long, and how your voice got quieter, almost shy. he lived for the way you tried so hard to act normal while clearly fighting the urge to pounce on him.

and sure enough, it happened. you were sitting on the couch, pretending to read something on your phone, but your eyes kept darting toward him as he stood by the window, adjusting his tie for work. his hair was perfectly messy, his shirt clung just right, and he smelled faintly of that cologne you loved — the one that always made you weak in the knees.

was he always this manly? you thought, biting your lip to suppress the idea forming in your mind.

finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. in a voice barely above a mumble, you blurted out your request, staring at your hands like they were the most interesting thing in the room.

sukuna paused, one brow arching as he looked over at you. “what was that?”

“you heard me,” you snapped, cheeks already burning.

his smirk grew, slow and deliberate. oh, he definitely heard you, but making you repeat it was just too much fun. “nah, say it again, brat.”

you glared at him, but your words came out softer this time. “i said... can we — ugh, forget it.”

but sukuna wasn’t letting you off the hook. he crossed the room in a few strides, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “you want something, sweetheart?” he teased, his voice low and infuriatingly smug.

“don’t call me that,” you muttered, but the way your face betrayed you had him grinning like a wolf.

inside, though? sukuna was practically doing cartwheels. he’d been waiting for this, playing it cool while secretly hoping you’d cave. hell, he’d even spritzed on that cologne just in case.

“guess the cologne worked,” he thought smugly, straightening up and offering you his hand. “come on, then. don’t just sit there sulking.”

you grabbed his hand, muttering something about him being an insufferable show-off, but the warmth in his gaze told you he didn’t mind one bit.

christmas was no longer the wild, chaotic blur it had been in your college years. gone were the days of cheap beer and blurry memories; now, it was the season of deadlines, adult responsibilities, and the quiet kind of teamwork that came with sharing a life together.

this year was no different. the two of you were neck-deep in work, scrambling to finish your projects before the holidays while juggling the ever-growing to-do list at home. the tree needed decorating, gifts had to be wrapped, and the house needed to look at least somewhat festive. but every time one of you lagged behind, the other seemed to pick up the slack without a word.

sukuna always acted like it was no big deal, like he didn’t just string up the lights you’d abandoned halfway through in frustration. when you came home to see the house glowing softly, you couldn’t help but smile. the bastard had even arranged the ornaments more symmetrically, something you knew he had no patience for.

“nice of you to finally show up,” he teased, leaning against the wall with that signature smirk. “thought you were gonna leave the lights looking like a toddler’s art project.”

“yeah? well, maybe i wouldn’t have left them if someone wasn’t holed up in meetings all day,” you shot back, tossing your bag onto the couch. but your tone lacked any real bite, especially when you saw the small pile of neatly wrapped presents on the coffee table — ones he had been too lazy to even look at yesterday.

“don’t mention it,” he grumbled, catching your gaze. “figured you’d just complain if i didn’t do it.”

and yet, there was a softness in his voice, the kind that reminded you of all the ways he cared without having to say it out loud. you didn’t mention how his gift-wrapping skills had gotten a lot better since last year, either.

you weren’t innocent in this silent game of covering for each other, though. while he’d been at work, you’d tackled the dishes he left stacked by the sink, cleared out the spare room, and even hung the stockings he’d forgotten about. and the look on his face when he noticed? priceless.

“didn’t know santa’s helper was working overtime,” he muttered as he hung up his coat, eyeing the spotless room.

“someone has to pick up the slack,” you shot back with a grin, earning a scoff from him.

this was your rhythm — quiet gestures, little acts of service that meant more than any grand romantic gesture ever could. by the time the two of you collapsed onto the couch that night, the house felt a little more like christmas, and neither of you felt the need to say thank you.

it was understood.

you hadn’t always been the woman you were now — brash, sarcastic, and unapologetically yourself. there’d been a time when you tried to fit into a box that people expected of you. you wore the smiles that didn’t reach your eyes, softened your voice to avoid being “too much,” and stayed quiet when things didn’t sit right.

but somewhere along the way, you grew tired of the charade.

now, you weren’t afraid to stand your ground, to call people out on their nonsense, or to let your emotions show when they threatened to bubble over. people called it “unladylike,” but you felt it was real. and sukuna? he never flinched.

from the moment he met you in college, he didn’t look at you like the others did. no raised eyebrows or snide comments, no attempts to tone you down or “fix” you. if anything, he leaned into it, meeting your fire with his own and somehow finding a rhythm that worked for both of you.

“damn, woman,” he’d tease when you got into it with someone over something trivial, a smirk tugging at his lips. “you’re scarier than me sometimes.”

but you knew better. sukuna didn’t just tolerate you — he admired you for it.

he admired the way you stood up for the things you believed in, even when it wasn’t your fight. like that time at the grocery store when you stepped in to tell off some jerk berating a cashier. or when you put your foot down at work, demanding the credit you deserved for a project someone else tried to claim.

on days when doubt crept in — when the whispers of “too much” got to you, or when you wondered if maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut — he was always there.

“don’t start with that crap,” he’d say, his tone firm but his gaze soft. “you’ve got guts. people don’t know what to do with someone like you, and that’s their problem, not yours.”

and just like that, the doubts would fade. because when sukuna said it, you believed it.

you weren’t perfect, and you didn’t try to be. you didn’t always handle things gracefully, and sometimes your fire burned a little too hot. but sukuna never made you feel like you had to apologize for it.

“real woman’s a little rough around the edges,” he’d say, brushing a hand through your hair as you scowled at him. “guess that makes you the realest one i know.”

you’d roll your eyes, shove him away, and call him a dumbass. but inside, you knew the truth — he meant every word. and that was more than enough to keep your head high and your fire burning.

sukuna had always been the kind of guy people whispered about — the loud, brash, unfiltered type that couldn’t blend into a crowd even if he tried. some would chalk it up to boys being boys, but others weren’t so forgiving. his rough edges earned him judgmental looks and hushed comments: “he’s too much,” or worse, “no woman in her right mind would feel safe around someone like that.”

he shrugged most of it off. it wasn’t like he was trying to be anyone’s knight in shining armor. sukuna was who he was — tough, straightforward, and unapologetic about it. but sometimes, the words stuck, sinking in during quiet moments when no one else was around.

then there was you.

you weren’t like the others, not even close. back in college, the two of you were little more than reluctant friends who spent more time throwing insults at each other than actually talking. it was a mutual loathing that somehow worked, a rivalry with an unspoken undercurrent of respect.

so when you stumbled out of some dingy campus bar one night, tipsy and laughing, and pointed at him out of everyone else in the crowd, he was stunned.

“you,” you slurred, jabbing a finger in his direction. “i’m trusting you to get me back safe, ‘kay? don’t screw it up.”

twenty other people stood there, friends and acquaintances who probably looked more polished, more reliable, less... him. but you chose sukuna, the brash idiot who gave as good as he got when it came to your constant bickering.

he didn’t know what to say. “you sure about that, woman? i’m the last guy people’d think is safe.”

you squinted at him, leaning against a lamppost for balance. “yeah, well... i think you’re better than you act.”

it wasn’t a declaration, and you probably didn’t even remember saying it the next day. but for sukuna, it was a moment that stuck with him. you, of all people, trusted him.

and that night, he made sure you got home without a scratch.

as the years passed and your relationship deepened, sukuna found himself thinking back to that night more often than he’d admit. he’d come to terms with the fact that people might never see him as a “safe” guy, might always look at his tattoos and his sharp demeanor and decide he was a liability.

but you? you never flinched. you challenged him, called him out, and refused to put up with his nonsense, but you trusted him completely. and for sukuna, that was enough.

maybe it was fine if the world saw him as rough around the edges.

maybe it was fine if only one girl felt safe around him.

because you were the only one who mattered, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

some days, the universe had it out for you.

the fluorescent lights in the office had felt especially harsh, the deadlines more relentless, and the endless emails were nothing short of soul-sucking. by the time you trudged through the door, your entire body screamed for reprieve.

you didn’t even have to say anything when you spotted sukuna on the couch, sprawled out like he’d been hit by the same work-from-hell truck. his shirt hung loosely, half the buttons undone, and his tie dangled like a noose he’d narrowly escaped from.

he cracked an eye open, glancing at you as you kicked your shoes off without a care for the usual routine of placing them neatly by the door.

“rough day?” he asked, voice gravelly and tinged with exhaustion.

you snorted, plopping onto the opposite end of the couch. “you could say that.”

he grunted, leaning his head back against the cushion. “figured. you look like you’ve been through war.”

“gee, thanks,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “you’re really helping boost my mood right now.”

he smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “not like you’re a ray of sunshine either.”

the two of you sat there in silence for a while, the room filled with nothing but the faint hum of the air conditioner. the mutual understanding hung between you like a comforting weight: there was no need for conversation, no need to pretend everything was fine. right now, the world could wait.

after a moment, he shifted, nudging your leg with his foot.

“want me to order something?” he asked, his voice softer this time.

you glanced at him, meeting his tired gaze. “only if you let me pick the movie.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “fine. but no shitty horror.”

“no promises,” you shot back, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the day you’d had.

he didn’t reply, but when he lazily tossed his arm over the back of the couch, leaving just enough room for you to scoot closer if you wanted, you took the invitation without a word.

and in that quiet moment, with your head resting on his shoulder and his warmth easing the weight of the day, you both found the break you needed.

visiting your parents always brought a sense of comfort you couldn’t replicate anywhere else. there was something about the smell of home-cooked meals wafting through the air and the sight of your mom humming as she rearranged the living room for the third time that week.

sukuna didn’t always come along, which you understood. he’d often tell you it was important to spend time with them without distractions, a sentiment you begrudgingly agreed with, though you sometimes missed having him there to share the little moments.

but even when he didn’t tag along, his presence was still felt in the quietest ways.

like the morning of your visit, when you found a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting on the kitchen counter with a sticky note slapped on the side. the handwriting was messy — typical sukuna — but the note was clear: "for your mom. tell her i said hi."

or when you opened the trunk of your car and spotted the sleek cutlery set he must’ve snuck in, the one your mom had been ogling during their last spontaneous shopping trip together.

“what’s this?” you’d texted him, grinning at your phone.

his reply came almost instantly: "you know she’s been talking about it non-stop. don’t make it weird."

and then there were the gifts for your dad, subtle but thoughtful as ever. the latest issue of his favorite sports magazine, tucked neatly into the grocery bag you’d prepared, and — because sukuna could never just stop at one thing — a pair of tickets to a football match hidden at the bottom.

“he’ll know it’s from you,” you’d told him over the phone later that day, biting back a laugh.

“good,” he grunted, but you could hear the faint smile in his tone. “that old man deserves it. just don’t let him hug me next time, alright? he’s too damn strong.”

by the time you sat at the dining table with your parents, watching your mom gush over the flowers and your dad’s eyes light up at the tickets, you couldn’t help but feel a tug of warmth.

sukuna wasn’t there, but his love was as present as ever, woven into every thoughtful detail he left behind.

the day you fell critically ill, sukuna learned what helplessness truly felt like. it wasn’t a punch he could throw, nor a problem he could snarl his way out of. no, this was worse — it was seeing you pale and unmoving, hooked up to machines that beeped with cruel indifference. the doctors had assured him that you'd be fine, but he couldn’t shake the unease that clung to every word they refused to say outright.

he tried to stay strong, like he always did. for you, for himself.

but the way the nurses glanced away during certain check-ups made his stomach churn.

sukuna had never been a man of prayer, but in those moments, he found himself muttering bargains to whoever might listen.

work? forgotten. calls and emails from the office piled up, but he didn’t give a damn. nothing mattered more than staying by your side, holding your limp hand, and willing you to wake up.

he refused to cry, but his body betrayed him. his hands would tremble as he smoothed back your hair, his shoulders shaking as he sat silently in the sterile hospital room. his jaw clenched so tightly it ached, yet his chest felt hollow, like every unshed tear was pooling there, ready to drown him.

days stretched into weeks, and he stayed. through the sleepless nights, the tasteless cafeteria coffee, and the endless hum of machines. and then, one day, when he was dozing off in the uncomfortable chair by your bed, he heard it — your voice.

weak, raspy, but unmistakably yours.

"you look like shit."

his head snapped up so fast he nearly got whiplash. his heart stopped, then surged with so much relief it left him dizzy.

“say that again,” he croaked, voice cracking in a way he’d never admit later.

you blinked at him, a faint ghost of your usual smirk playing on your lips. "i said you look like —"

you didn’t even get to finish before he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as the first sob tore free. sukuna, the man who never cried, couldn’t stop the tears now. his shoulders heaved as the weight of weeks came crashing down, his relief overwhelming and raw.

and even in your weakened state, you found the strength to lift a trembling hand to his, lacing your fingers with his in silent reassurance.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, voice hoarse but steady. “i’m okay.”

and for the first time in weeks, sukuna believed it.

if you thought you getting sick was bad, sukuna catching whatever it was you had was a whole different kind of disaster. the man, who usually strutted around like he was invincible, had practically worked himself into the ground worrying over you — and now here you were, sitting at his bedside, glaring at his feverish, helpless form.

his hair was messier than usual, sticking up in odd directions, and the flush of his cheeks wasn’t the usual healthy glow but the result of a high fever. his strong, confident presence? reduced to pathetic groans as he thrashed under the covers, mumbling incoherent nonsense thanks to the cocktail of medicine pumping through his system.

"i told you to rest, you idiot," you grumbled, your hand gripping his limp one tightly. "but nooo, you had to play the hero, didn’t you? now look at you —"

"’m fine," he slurred, his voice rough but somehow lighter than usual. his half-lidded eyes barely focused on you, though the lazy smirk on his lips was undeniably him.

“fine, my ass,” you snapped, adjusting the damp cloth on his forehead. “you’re burning up like a damn furnace.”

he chuckled weakly, though it sounded more like a wheeze. "you’re hot too..."

your face immediately burned, but you weren’t about to let him get away with that. "shut up, sukuna. you're delirious."

“delirious for you...” he mumbled, trailing off into a hum as his eyes fluttered shut.

you sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair and letting your head drop against the bed frame.

“if you don’t get better soon, i’m gonna kill you myself,” you muttered, though your grip on his hand never loosened.

despite the frustration bubbling in your chest, you couldn’t help but find him oddly endearing in this state. his sharp edges were dulled by exhaustion, his usually brash demeanor softened by vulnerability. even when sick out of his mind, he still managed to worm his way under your skin.

and as you sat there, watching over him the way he had done for you, you couldn’t help but smile at how unfairly cute he looked like this — messy, helpless, and somehow still so him.

the morning of your fourth anniversary began like any other, except for the fact that sukuna woke up with a jolt, heart pounding as if he'd just realized something earth-shattering. in truth, he had.

he loved you. no, not just the casual "of course i love you" love that he'd tossed your way over the years, but the overwhelming, soul-stirring, i want to marry you and grow old together type of love.

and the thought made his chest tight in a way that wasn't unpleasant — just... intense. too much to keep still. too much to lie there like everything was normal.

so he didn’t.

he jumped out of bed like he was late for something, practically bounding around the apartment with a stupid grin on his face. when you shuffled out of the bedroom, still groggy, you squinted at him suspiciously as he spun in the kitchen, humming some offbeat tune while attempting to cook.

"what the hell are you on?" you grumbled, rubbing your eyes.

"nothing!" he chirped — chirped! — and the sound alone made you pause mid-yawn.

you raised a brow. "you’re acting like you downed three energy drinks before sunrise. you're, what, twenty-six now? should i be worried about this second wind of yours?"

he waved you off, grinning like a fool as he leaned in to peck your forehead — something he usually only did when he was either apologizing or trying to soften you up. “don’t worry about it, brat. just... uh, happy anniversary!”

“...right.” your voice was laced with suspicion, but before you could prod him further, he darted out of the house, claiming he had errands to run.

in reality, sukuna wasn’t rushing to work. he was rushing to every jewelry store he could think of, frantically searching for the ring. nothing felt good enough at first — too flashy, too plain, too cheap-looking, too expensive —but then he saw it.

a simple but elegant b and, something he could imagine sliding onto your finger, and his chest squeezed at the thought. he bought it before he could second-guess himself, but as the cool weight of the box settled in his palm, his excitement morphed into nerves.

this was it. this was real. he wanted to marry you.

and for once, the man who could talk shit in his sleep felt like his tongue might betray him. how was he supposed to ask? what if you said no? what if you laughed at him?

but then he thought about you — about the mornings you’d yell at him for leaving socks everywhere, the late nights you’d fall asleep on his shoulder during a movie, the way you’d wrinkle your nose when he teased you but still let him kiss you anyway.

and suddenly, the nerves felt less like fear and more like anticipation. because no matter how badly he might screw it up, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

now all he had to do... was figure out how the hell to propose without making a fool of himself.

your day was already spiraling out of control.

it started with your parents calling to gush over how you and sukuna had made it to four years, rambling about how he’s such a nice boy, so thoughtful, so dependable, and then dropping the bomb:

“so, when’s the wedding?”

your first instinct was to laugh it off, but they were persistent. “no, really, sweetheart. four years is a long time. don’t you think it’s time to settle down?”

you barely managed to hang up without screaming, only to find yourself spiraling down a rabbit hole of self-reflection. sharing an apartment, living like pseudo-adults who sometimes forgot to buy milk — wasn’t that enough? did there have to be a wedding?

...okay, maybe you had saved that one wedding dress pin on pinterest. but that was hypothetical! a fantasy, not a plan!

still, the thought of marriage stirred something in you that you weren’t ready to confront. and now, your parents' words echoed in your mind like a broken record.

so naturally, when sukuna came strolling back into the apartment looking suspiciously smug, you decided to handle the situation with grace.

"what the hell are we?" you blurted, standing in the living room with your hands on your hips, still wearing your old snoopy t-shirt and pajama shorts.

he blinked at you, confused. "...what?"

“us!” you snapped, gesturing wildly between the two of you. “are we just boyfriend and girlfriend forever? is that all this is? because apparently, everyone’s waiting for some big grand wedding announcement, and i —”

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, cutting you off mid-rant as he dropped the shopping bag in his hand and reached into his pocket.

you froze, watching in disbelief as he got down on one knee. your brain short-circuited as he pulled out a ring, glaring at you like you were the one being unreasonable.

“you wanna know what we are? fine,” he grumbled, holding up the ring. “we’re two idiots who’ve been together for four years, and yeah, i love you, and yeah, i was already planning to propose, but you had to go and yell at me first.”

you stared at him, completely floored, your heartbeat deafening in your ears.

“so,” he continued, waving the ring slightly as if to snap you out of your shock. “are you gonna marry me or what? because my knee is killing me here, and i swear to god if you say no —”

you didn’t let him finish. practically tackling him, you shouted, “yes! yes, obviously yes!”

he huffed, half-annoyed, half-relieved, and slid the ring onto your finger before pulling you into a kiss. when you finally pulled back, you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears.

“you proposed to me while i’m wearing a snoopy t-shirt,” you said, voice trembling with equal parts amusement and disbelief.

he smirked, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “well, you’re the idiot who started yelling at me in pajamas. figured i’d match your energy.”

and just like that, in the middle of your messy apartment, you realized you wouldn’t have it any other way.

planning a wedding with sukuna was a comedy of errors wrapped in sarcasm, stubbornness, and way too many uses of the word bro.

“bro, what’s the deal with this caterer?” you asked one evening, sprawled across the couch with a pile of wedding magazines. “they’re charging how much for some dry-ass chicken?”

“i don’t know, bro,” he shot back, tossing a pen at you. “maybe don’t pick the one with ‘gourmet’ in the name next time.”

your casual banter didn’t go unnoticed by your parents. your mother, horrified, kept clutching her pearls whenever she overheard you.

“you can’t call him that!” she hissed during one planning session, waving a hand at sukuna as if he wasn’t sitting right there. “you’re supposed to call him something sweet! romantic!”

“relax, mom,” you replied, deadpan. “i call him husband in my head sometimes.”

that earned a squawk from your dad. “what happened to being a lady?” he shrieked, gesturing wildly like he was about to disown you right then and there.

but you couldn’t care less, and neither could sukuna. though it was a whole different story the first time you called him husband out loud.

you were going over seating arrangements one night, hunched over the dining table with a bottle of wine between you.

“what do you think, husband?” you said absentmindedly, tapping a pen against your chin as you stared at the chart.

the sound of the pen dropping from his hand caught your attention. you looked up to find sukuna frozen, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“did you just —”

“what?”

“you called me —”

“what?” you repeated, playing innocent.

“husband,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, as if the word was too sacred to say out loud.

and then, to your utter disbelief, his knees buckled, and he plopped onto the floor in a dramatic heap.

“oh my god, are you serious?” you exclaimed, rushing over to him.

he groaned, running a hand down his face. “holy shit, this is real. i’m really about to marry you. you, the most stubborn, annoying, incredible woman on the planet.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, crouching down beside him. “and what? that’s enough to make your knees give out?”

“shut the fuck up,” he muttered, grabbing your hand to pull you closer. “you’re lucky i love you, wife.”

your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, low and full of certainty, and for a moment, the teasing stopped. it was real. all of it.

and if sukuna’s knees gave out a couple more times on the way to the wedding, well, that was between you and him.

the day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, a little too cheery for your taste, given how your nerves were practically setting your stomach on fire. the venue was packed with friends and family, and sukuna stood at the altar looking as annoyingly smug as ever, though you caught the way he kept flexing his fingers, a sure sign of his own restlessness.

the ceremony went on in a blur — your father tearing up, your mother fluffing your dress at the last minute, the aisle stretching longer than it had any right to be. but then you were standing across from him, sukuna's stupidly handsome face softening just enough when his eyes locked onto yours.

“finally,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“shut up,” you hissed back, though your lips twitched with a smile.

and then came the vows.

“alright,” sukuna began, clearing his throat. “here’s the deal. i promise to put up with your constant nagging, your stubborn-ass attitude, and your inexplicable need to buy three different brands of the same mascara.”

you blinked, momentarily stunned, before your lips parted in disbelief. “are you kidding me?”

“not done yet,” he said, holding up a hand to stop you. his smirk softened into something warmer, his voice lowering. “but i also promise to stand by you when life gets rough. to always be the first one to have your back when the world feels like it’s caving in. to love you, even when you make me want to tear my hair out. and yeah, i guess i’d even give you the last slice of pizza, but don’t make me regret it.”

there was a collective laugh from the audience, but the emotion in his eyes left no doubt in your mind that he meant every word.

when it was your turn, you took a steadying breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “fine. i promise to tolerate your overly dramatic bullshit, your constant need to be loud in every situation, and your inability to follow a single recipe without adding your own twist.”

his grin widened, but you pressed on, your tone softening. “but i also promise to be your partner in everything — whether it’s taking on the world or just deciding what to eat for dinner. i promise to never give up on us, even when you’re being insufferable. and yes, i’ll love you through all the ups, downs, and sideways curves life throws at us. but don’t expect me to share my fries. ever.”

sukuna barked out a laugh, and you caught the glimmer of tears in his eyes as he squeezed your hands a little tighter.

“are you two serious?” the officiant asked, though they were smiling.

“dead serious,” you and sukuna said in unison, glancing at each other with matching smirks.

and when the final moment came, when the officiant announced you as husband and wife, sukuna didn’t waste a second.

“come here, wife,” he murmured, pulling you close and crashing his lips against yours.

the cheers and applause from your friends and family faded into the background as the kiss deepened, sealing not just the vows but every unspoken promise between the two of you.

as you pulled back, breathless, sukuna smirked down at you. “you know we’re gonna tell this story a million times, right?”

“damn right we will,” you replied, matching his grin.

and just like that, the two of you — stubborn, ridiculous, and deeply in love — were ready to face whatever came next, armed with the best stories to tell your future kids.

thank you for sticking around the wild wild journey of a stubborn-kuna and an even stubborn reader. i hope you enjoyed <3 produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost —support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

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